


After We Fell Apart

by CES479



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Friendship, Post-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 130,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4028494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CES479/pseuds/CES479
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all relationships can stand the test of time—especially when said relationship blossoms in tandem with the mounting pressures from the Inquisition. </p><p>Cullen and the Inquisitor grow apart just before Corypheus is defeated. In the aftermath, the tension between them and Cullen’s worsening symptoms from his lyrium withdrawal convince him to leave his post and return to South Reach to be with his family. Almost two years later, the Inquisitor arrives there on business and sees him again for the first time. Unsurprisingly, he has not gotten any less handsome, and she is not any less regretful about what happened between them. But reconciliation is not an easy process, nor is it an inevitable one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story features an Inquisitor, Katria, from another story of mine that’s [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3437933/chapters/7536146). It would enhance the understanding of this story to read the original, since it’s a deviation from that plot, but, in my opinion, it’s not required because I am hoping I adequately establish background info with this first chapter. And really the whole premise is just that the two of them break up, so other info isn’t too important. 
> 
> Accordingly, this chapter is a prologue of sorts and pretty long; I wanted to firmly establish what contributed to the end of this relationship and Cullen leaving the Inquisition since it would not be an easy decision. Chapters will be shorter after this. Feedback would be greatly, amazingly appreciated because what even is this crazy nonsense.

They always fought about Samson. About her decisions. About their inability to separate being Commander and Inquisitor from Cullen and Katria. She sided with Leliana constantly, and he bristled at it, trying not to take it personally, until his annoyance had grown to a point where it could not be ignored. 

It had been a bad day by all accounts. He’d woken up in the morning with a splitting headache, and pain in his limbs so bad he had tremors, but he ignored the ache because he had to work. 

An urgent missive had arrived that morning from a Chantry sister who was pinned in by some Avvar in the Frostbacks along with some injured and discharged Inquisition soldiers. The only reinforcements that could reach them were some of his men who were on the trail of a group of red Templars. 

Cullen knew no one wanted to make the call, but he told the Inquisitor that the best course of action was to allow his men to continue pursuing the Templars. They were so _close_ to finding Samson’s lair. And the red Templars were smuggling people from villages and using them to harvest lyrium—it was horrendous. More lives would be saved if it were stopped. 

Katria had disagreed, not taken his advice, and they lost the trail. In the back of his mind, he was silently fuming. The Inquisitor was always flitting around, preaching redemption with her glib smile, using a “soft” hand to deal with issues that arose. Cullen understood that worked at times, but other problems required a firmer, tougher approach. For Andraste’s sake, she hadn’t executed anyone in her judgments. 

She’d even _recruited_ Grand Duchess Florianne, who was a servant of Corypheus and had arranged for the extermination of the eleven servants in Halamshiral. Katria trusted the information this evil, foolish prat gave her, and used Leliana, of course, to gain the names of some allies of Corypheus. Then, Florianne had escaped, completely scot-free despite the trouble she caused them all at the Winter Palace.

Her strategy irked him—the utter recklessness of it all—and now it was impacting his ability to stop the red Templars. That same day, they’d been discussing some other matter, and she had the nerve to _laugh_ at his suggestion. 

She’d looked guilty, and apologized immediately, with her light airy tone, insisting she was only kidding. She was _always_ kidding. After the meeting, Cullen had retreated to his desk, his head in his heads, trying to feel one _second_ of a reprieve from the pain in his head and finding none. 

The door to his office flew open, slamming into the wall with a sound that made him wince. He lifted his head and saw Katria, giving a long exhale. He hoped this was not a prelude to more of their increasingly-frequent bickering. 

“Yes, Inquisitor?” 

She smiled briefly at him and crossed the room, leaning on his desk beside where he sat in his chair. There was a report in her hand. 

“One last matter came up, and I’d like your thoughts.” She folded her hand across her stomach. “Leliana has come across some information indicating that an arl named Gallagher Wulff allied with the Venatori while they were in Redcliffe. She suggests that instead of exposing him, since _he_ does not know the Inquisition has discovered him, we feed him false information in the hopes of nudging the Venatori forces in a direction of our choosing. What do you think?” 

Cullen frowned. “This man has done business with our enemy, Inquisitor. He should be tried and executed. Ferelden will be grateful to us.” 

“How did I know you were going to say that?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“If you’re simply going to mock my suggestions, then don’t bother asking for them,” he snapped back. 

“I wasn’t-,” Katria stopped and lowered the report. “You know, I just don’t understand why it’s okay to kill this arl, but you’re vehemently against the job Heir brought to me from that noblewoman.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What is it you said? ‘The Inquisition does not serve the romantic whims of nobles’?” 

He grit his teeth. “Yes, Inquisitor. I do not think we should be playing ridiculous games. We are not some unscrupulous assassin’s guild killing people for coin.” 

“Oh, so I’m unscrupulous now?”

“I didn’t say _you_ were,” he protested.

She shrugged. “Just assassins, then? Which is what I am training to be.” 

Cullen stood from his chair. “Did you come here for any reason _other_ than convoluting my words to suit your needs?”

Katria leaned back, looking surprised. “Are you…upset with me?”

His eyes flickered over to her for just a second as he scowled. “No, Inquisitor.” 

She sighed impatiently. “This is about those red Templars, isn’t it?” She straightened. “I order your men to save a Chantry mother and some Inquisition soldiers, and all you care about is finding Samson.” 

Cullen spun around. “Those Templars were abducting villagers,” he said. “More lives would have been saved if my men stayed on the trail. I didn’t say it was an easy call to make.” 

“And I didn’t side with you, so now you’re mad,” she said. 

“You never side with me,” he muttered. 

Katria’s face flashed an expression of hardness he hadn’t seen before. “Maybe if you had better ideas then-,” 

Cullen snapped his head around to meet her gaze, his brow creased, which made her stop, her lips parting as she trailed off. He clenched his gloved hands as she stepped towards him. 

“Wait, Cullen, I didn’t-,” 

“You’ve heard my advice on the matter with the arl,” he said curtly. “I’d thank you to leave.” 

Katria dropped her arms to her side. “Don’t do this. I-,” 

Cullen rounded his desk and sat himself in his chair, finding the first piece of parchment he could. He held it up and read it with rapt concentration. 

“Please leave,” he said, without looking at her. The pain in his temple was only intensifying as he tried to reign in his temper. 

“You are acting like a child,” she snapped, before spinning around and marching through his door. 

Once she left, Cullen lowered the parchment in his hand, still scowling. He sat mired in his anger for a few minutes, then rested his head against his desk. He recognized that sometimes the symptoms of his lyrium withdrawal made his temper short, but it’s not like Katria was handling it particularly _well_. He expected her to come to him later and apologize, like she should. 

That didn’t happen. He did not see or hear from her for the rest of the day. Between his headache, and the amount of work he had on his desk, he didn’t think of her.

They were alone the next morning, though. Cullen almost always came to the War Room first, but when he pushed open the door, Katria was standing there, chewing her lip as she regarded a letter on the table below her. She looked up, her brow raised. 

“Oh.” 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said with a nod. He traversed the room and placed his reports before him. He shuffled through them, trying not to feel the heat of her gaze as they stood in a still silence. 

Katria rested her fist against the map, shaking her head. “You have good ideas,” she said. “I…value your input.” She shuffled awkwardly. “I don’t _just_ keep you around to look pretty.” 

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” The words rolled off his tongue, colder than he intended them to be. His anger, his indignation, held him in a vice-like grip. He tried to look at her and smile, but only felt disdain. 

Katria grit her teeth. “Would you _please_ stop calling me that?” 

“It’s your title,” he replied. 

“You’re saying it to hurt me,” she snapped. “You know I hate it. You know I’m trying to talk to you on a personal level and—and _Inquisitor_ just makes it…not that.” 

“We are in the War Room,” he remarked, straightening and crossing his arms over his chest. 

Katria mimicked his pose. “You could have come to me sooner than this.” 

“I’m not the one who should be apologizing,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Cullen, alright, I said something…unkind. But do you know what’s unkind?” Katria narrowed her eyes and pointed at him. “How you let our personal relationship be effected by the decisions I’ve made as the Inquisitor.” 

“I have done no such thing,” he said, his voice rising slightly. 

“You have to!” she insisted. “If I don’t fall over myself trying to find and capture Samson and the red Templars, you get angry with me.” 

“The red Templars are our enemies,” he shot back. “They are growing red lyrium using people. I apologize if I think that’s more important than you dithering around playing assassin.” 

Katria made a disgusted noise. “Of course. Maker forbid I further develop my derisory dueling skills when I should be carrying around a sword and shield like a good little warrior.” 

“Oh, please, this has nothing to do with your fighting style,” he said, frowning. “You bring this up simply to reinforce how good you think you are.” 

“It does have to do with how I fight,” she said, her brows arched angrily inwards. “Or, more precisely, it has to do with Templars. You don’t approve of Heir and my training because you think warriors, Templars, for example, are superior. You didn’t want to side with the mages in Haven because we could have had an alliance with Templars. You want to find Samson because he’s corrupting Templars. And the only time you want to dispatch Leliana’s agents to gather information is so that you can find out the location of Carroll—a Templar!” 

Katria stuck out her jaw mulishly. “For someone who wants nothing to do with that life, you still reek of the Order.” 

Cullen looked up at her, meeting her gaze, his eyes narrowed to slits. He clenched both his hands around the pommel of his sword. 

“For someone who prides herself on being so forgiving, compassionate and kind, you certainly have the capacity to be cold and ruthless,” he ground out. 

“I’m telling the truth,” she said stiffly. 

He shook his head once. “You’re making a fool out of yourself, Katria.” 

She threw her hand up. “It’s _Katria_ , now, is it? We’re in the personal territory, I take it?” 

Cullen clenched his jaw, trying to search his thoughts, his mind feeling heavy and cluttered from his rage. He had said I love you to her once. It had been months, and cracks had formed immediately after, but it had meant something then. 

Katria tapped her foot impatiently in the silence. “Well? What is it you’re going to tell me?” she asked. “That I’m not the person you thought I was?” 

“You aren’t.” 

She threw a hateful glare in his direction, though he saw the hurt flash straight across her eyes. “You’re not exactly who I thought you were either, you know!” 

Katria began pacing, breathing out sharply through her nose. “When I thought about having a lover, I didn’t think I would have to share him with his _job_.”

“Is that all I am to you, still?” Cullen demanded angrily. For all his confessions of deep affection, Katria had trouble fully committing to him. She had said I love you, eventually, but he could feel the uneasiness—now it seemed to him that she had simply lied. 

“Give it a rest,” she snapped. “You’re always concerned about being so _serious_. About us, your job, everything!” 

“Those things are important to me!” he exclaimed. “ _You_ were important to…” Cullen trailed off, his voice lowering until he cleared his throat. 

Katria stopped pacing. “So what am I now?” she asked. “Still important?” 

“Yes,” he said, then sighed. “I don’t…” He gestured around to the room. “Look at this. Look at what we’re doing. In the _War Room_ , for Andraste’s sake. This can’t happen here. It can’t happen at all—there’s too much at stake for the Inquisitor and her Commander to fight like this.” 

She hung her head, staring down at the dusty tip of her boot. “I know.” 

Cullen lifted his hand from his sword to rub the back of his neck. “We can’t afford to lose sight of our main objective. There can be no distractions.” 

“So what are you saying?” Katria demanded, her jaw set in a determined line. “That we shouldn’t…be together anymore?” 

“Maybe.” 

The door behind her opened, and they both jumped in surprise, looking with guilty faces across the room at Josephine and Leliana. Cullen quickly turned away, grabbing a report, trying to look busy and nonchalant. Katria ran her hand along her arm, still staring at the ground. 

Cullen tried to make the meeting as normal as possible, but he continued to fixate on what he said. Had he really meant it—that maybe they shouldn’t be together anymore? After how deeply he had cared for her, how utterly flustered she made him, were they incompatible now? 

Being in the War Room, trying to manage the Inquisition, made it hard to answer these questions. After a few hours, their business concluded. Cullen expected Katria to hang back and wait, but instead she was the first one out the door, giving them polite smiles before disappearing. He stayed stationary and tried not to let his shoulders slump. He should have known she’d prefer to run away from these problems rather than confront them. 

And run away from them, she did. Katria left for the Emerald Graves two days later without another word to him. She didn’t send a single letter while she was gone. 

===

Katria was in the Emerald Graves for an entire month. Being the Inquisitor proved an excellent distraction from the problems she was having in her personal life. Everyone asked so much of her, it was easy to occupy herself with all sorts of tasks. Of course, on occasion, her mind would betray her and think of Cullen, think of the guilt she felt for leaving so quickly. She didn’t completely understand her motivation for doing it—perhaps she feared if they had one more conversation, Cullen would turn his ‘maybe’ to something more certain. 

His job was the single most important thing to him, it seemed, and their relationship was threatening his ability to work. And, if she was honest, it was interfering with her role as Inquisitor, too. The whole world was at stake—the fate of so many people was contingent upon their success. These petty differences simply couldn’t come between them. Although perhaps they already had. 

Katria returned to Skyhold, trying to cling to any semblance of logic she could find in her mind, but nothing seemed to be making sense. She went to her quarters after relinquishing her horse to Dennet, flopping down in the chair across from her chess set after pouring herself a drink. 

The door opened fairly soon after she sat down. Cullen climbed up the stairs, holding reports in both his hands. He paused when he saw her, clearing his throat in the awkward silence before marching forward and sitting across from her. 

“I have some reports for you regarding the base of Samson’s operations,” he said. 

Katria leaned back in her chair, resting her cheek against her fist. Cullen always led with business. 

“I don’t want to talk about that,” she said. 

He sighed. “I know.” 

She moved both her hands to her lap, staring down at them. “There’s…something wrong between us now.” She shrugged. “We might be able to fix it, but…” 

“That doesn’t mean it won’t happen again,” he finished, shifting in his seat. “I don’t think that the Inquisition can afford for you…for us…to be at each other’s throats.”

Katria looked away from him, at the fireplace beside them, letting her head fall against the plush back of her chair. She tried to decide how she felt about all this—there were too many emotions churning around inside her. She was exhausted, sad, disappointed, relieved, indignant, angry; it was _too much_.

How badly would it hurt to lose him? A lot, probably. There was safety and security in his arms. Comfort—comfort that she hadn’t had for so long. But then, other times, she felt hurt and angry and she lashed out at him and that _couldn’t_ happen now. Not when Corypheus was still alive and Cullen still struggled with his withdrawals. 

She rubbed her face. “I’m confused, Cullen. Or conflicted, maybe.” She threw her hand up in frustration. “Fuck, I’m conflicted about how to even express that I’m conflicted.” 

“As am I,” he replied. Cullen waited a few moments, then began tugging off one of his gloves, finger by finger. He draped it over his knee, then reached out across the chess board for her. 

Katria took his hand, feeling the callouses on his fingers. She studied the small, whitened scars scattered across his skin from his sword-training. 

“I don’t think we should be together anymore, Katria.” 

She lifted her head to meet his gaze, eyes widening slightly. “You came here intending to do this.” 

Cullen swallowed. “You gave me plenty of time to think about it while you were gone. And I decided that this is the best course of action.” 

Katria pushed her hair behind her ear with her free hand. She wanted to be angry at him for not even _suggesting_ that they keep trying. Yet even the act of trying posed risk in their situation. She knew herself well enough to understand that the more arguments they had, the more she would retaliate in that cold, heartless way she’d been trying so desperately to hide from everyone. It would hurt more, complicate more—a quick, clean break, a single sharp jab between the ribs, was sensible and logical. 

“I was hoping the decision would be at least a _little_ difficult for you.”

“It was,” he insisted. “When _I_ told you I loved you, I meant it.”

She narrowed her eyes because that felt like an insult. A short breath of air left her nose. “Cullen, let’s be honest. We were together for one night, and it fell apart after that.”

And it had. Cullen had been distant at best after she stayed in his tower—he’d retreated inwards, out of fear or shame, she didn’t know, or maybe he’d fallen back on his old Templar training to never lose control or show emotion. Either way, she’d quickly followed suit, as was her habit, too, and her bitterness made their conversations awkward and tense for the months that followed. Their relationship was nothing less than skating on thin ice, all their conflicts simmering underneath. Now the ice had cracked, and they were drowning. 

He ran his thumb across her palm. “It was too much to ask. We both need to focus on the task at hand.” 

Katria extricated herself from his grasp and leaned back. “Yes, Cullen. I’m aware of what’s most important to you.” 

“Saving Thedas is important to me,” he said, reaching for his glove to slide it back over his hand. 

“Well, I…” She exhaled slowly, aware of the way her throat tightened as a swell of emotion twisted in her stomach. “I hope we can remain civil.” 

“Of course.” Cullen put his palms on his knees and stood. “I…I’m sorry. About all this.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest, slouching down a little. “It’s enough that we tried. Things simply didn’t…work.” Perhaps _simply_ was not the right word. Their jobs complicated everything, and even trying to fix it and continuing to falter could put all that they’ve sacrificed at risk. Cullen deserved—needed—someone who could communicate better than she could. Who didn’t run from her problems. Who wasn’t broken herself. 

He pursed his lips, his brow creased as he watched her for a few seconds. Cullen eventually sighed and rubbed his neck. 

“Good day, Inquisitor.”

He left quietly when she didn’t reply. Katria sat in silence, staring in front of her, wondering why she suddenly felt so empty. 

===

Katria killed Corypheus a few months later. She cemented her place in history, sky-rocketed to the status of legendary hero, was the name on everyone’s lips. 

She survived without Cullen, of course, and he without her. She was over thirty and knew what it was like to be sad, knew how to hide it. It was only once that her tight grip on her composure loosened. 

Katria had been alone in bed, trying to sleep, and was struck with a terrible, aching loneliness. The whole feeling was cruelly ironic to her. She’d spent most of her life alone and not minded it—in fact, she _sought_ solitude out. But, in that moment, while she clung to her pillow and let fat tears roll down her cheeks, she wished for someone’s company. She wanted just one person out of all the people in Skyhold who stared at her in reverence to actually _see_ her and not the Inquisitor. Cullen had done that once. Katria wondered if he ever felt as lonely as she did.

But months had passed, and they were purely professional in their interactions now. He was never flustered or uncertain—the Commander of the Inquisition summarized reports, gave her advice, congratulated her on their victory. That was all. Katria still found him attractive, certainly. His muscular, warrior’s build, his strong jaw, the scar on his lip were features that did not escape her notice, but that gave her no motivation to dive back head-first into what they had both agreed would be better to end. 

Although, Katria’s observations of his handsome features also forced her to acknowledge that he did not exactly look well. There were almost always dark circles under his eyes, his skin was pale and sallow, and some days she noticed tremors in his hands as he held parchment or quills. It was not her place to pry into the state of his health given their past relationship, but it still worried her. 

Two weeks after Corypheus’ defeat, when Skyhold was just emerging from the delirious stupor caused by the massive celebrations of their victory, Katria met her advisors in the War Room. 

Beating a darkspawn magister did not yield the rewards she hoped. Sure, lavish gifts came pouring in from all over Thedas, but with them came the expectation that Katria meet with all these nobles, play their Game, and listen to their political scheming. She had little patience for it, and had even less patience for the gowns she was forced to wear on said occasions.

Josephine began talking first in their meetings. She had the most to say, the most to handle now that the war was over. The Inquisition was no longer in need of force, but finesse. Reforming the Circles and the Templar Order and re-establishing a relationship with the Chantry required the light touch that Josephine had. 

Their Ambassador was droning on about the guest-list for the huge banquet that was being planned for Katria in Halamshiral by Empress Celene. It would be the social event of the year, according to Josephine. 

Katria became distracted when her eyes fell to Cullen. He was staring at the table, clenching his sword in his hands tightly. She still noticed they were shaking. There was the faintest glimmer of sweat on his temple, and his jaw was clenched, like he was in pain. 

“Cullen?” she said, furrowing her brow. 

He did not look up, so she said his name, louder this time. 

“Cullen.” 

He jerked his head up, then winced. His eyes were bloodshot and accented by the dark circles underneath them. 

“Ah, yes, what were you saying, Inquisitor? I apologize.” 

“Are you okay?” she asked him. 

Cullen flexed his hand. “I am fine.” 

“You don’t _look_ fine,” Josephine remarked, leaning in closer to him. 

He stepped back and cleared his throat. “I can assure you I’m…” A wave of pain moved through him, and he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m fine.” 

Katria tapped her foot against the smooth stone floor. “We’ll postpone our meeting until Commander Cullen gets some rest.” 

He looked at her, his brow lowered in determination. “That is not necessary, Inquisitor. I’m fine.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not inclined to believe you just because you repeat that over and over again.” 

“You should believe what I tell you,” he said. 

Katria waved her hand dismissively. “We’ll reconvene when you feel better.” 

Cullen grit his teeth. “I’m-,”

“You’re all dismissed,” she said, in a hardened tone she reserved for when she needed to be particularly inquisitorial. 

Josephine and Leliana both gave polite nods, gathering their things and then quickly retreating from the room. Katria scrutinized Cullen, the way his shoulders hunched slightly when he normally stood so straight. She felt words rising in her throat, words that would reprimand him for being so stubborn, but she stopped them by closing her mouth.

Katria turned on her heel and began walking to the door. She heard the creak of the table behind her, then a groan, before the mighty crash of his armor clattering to the floor echoed through the room. 

“Maker, Cullen!” 

She hurried back over to where Cullen was crumpled on the stone below her. She knelt down and rolled him onto his back. He was unconscious, so his head simply lolled to the side as she hovered over him.

Katria made a frustrated noise. 

“I told you that you weren’t _fine_.”

===

Cullen woke up feeling better than he had in weeks. Although considering his health during that time, it wasn’t that much of an improvement. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked in the sudden influx of light. There was not a hole in the thatched roof above him, which meant he was not in his tower. 

Cullen pushed himself onto his elbows and looked around. He was in Skyhold’s infirmary that had sat mostly empty since Corypheus’ defeat. 

The door across from him flew open, and the Inquisitor appeared, her dark hair braided neatly and her gray cloak fluttering around her feet. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw him.

“What happened?” he asked. 

Katria’s expression faded as she frowned. “You collapsed in the War Room. The healers say you are not well. That you haven’t been taking care of yourself.” 

Cullen looked away from her, though what she said was the truth. His health had been a minor concern in the face of his work and defeating Corypheus. He slept little, ate only when he remembered to, and grappled with a tremendous amount of stress. Any normal person would suffer because of these habits, but Cullen’s body was also reeling from the lack of lyrium in his veins. It had been almost a year since he’d stopped—he thought his symptoms would wane, but they had only intensified in the weeks after the Inquisition’s triumph. 

“I thought that I could handle it,” he said. “I’m simply…having a few bad weeks.” 

Katria walked closer to him. “That’s not it,” she said. “You think you can sleep and eat and act like you did all these months and not feel the consequences? Your body can’t take it anymore, Cullen. You’ve got to let up.” 

“I told you I would not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry,” he replied tersely. 

She put her hands on her hips, her brow crinkled angrily. “I am not going to stand here and listen to you further sacrifice yourself in the name of your work. Lyrium withdrawal has killed men. It could kill you.”

“If it hasn’t by now, it probably won’t,” he insisted, sitting up completely on his cot. 

“That is not the point, Cullen,” she snapped. “I have watched you value this job over your own life over and over again. If you keep going like this, your health will suffer more than it already has. I will not allow it.”

“What does that mean?” he asked. 

Katria sighed, her lips pursed. “It _means_ that I will remove you from your post for the sake of your health if I have to. Because I care more about you than your ability to do your job.” 

“That is outrageous,” Cullen began angrily. “You have _no_ right to-,” 

“I have every right!” she cut in. “I find it hard to believe that you have forgotten I am the Inquisitor.” 

“That doesn’t mean you have license to do something like this!” he protested. “It would be…be completely unethical, inappropriate!” 

Katria ran her hand through her hair, making a frustrated noise. “Maker, Cullen, don’t you get it?” She threw her arms out. “I don’t understand how you could be okay with the fact that you’re basically killing yourself for your fucking job!” 

“Why does that matter to _you_?” he snapped back.

She stepped closer. “Because regardless of whatever happened—or ended between us, I still care about you as a human being. As my advisor.” 

Cullen leaned back and exhaled through his nose. “If you feel that my ability to lead has been compromised, then you may relieve me from duty.” 

Katria slid her hand along her temple. “When are you ever going to understand that your performance is not the problem? You are a fine Commander, a competent leader, but it’s costing you too much.” 

“I disagree,” he said, clenching his fingers in the blanket draped over his legs.

“After your collapse in the War Room, your opinion means little to me when it concerns your views about your health,” she grumbled. 

“I want to do my job,” he said with a clenched jaw. 

“Why?” she demanded exasperatedly. “Because you still want to _atone_?” Katria sat down heavily beside him. “We defeated a darkspawn magister. You have done more good in Thedas than anyone else outside the Inquisition will probably ever do.”

“That doesn’t mean I should just quit,” he said. 

She held his gaze. Her blue eyes had a softness to them now. “Maybe it’s time to put that indomitable focus of yours elsewhere. There are other things to atone for.” 

“Like what?” he asked, watching her as she stood from his cot. 

“You haven’t seen your family in more than fifteen years,” she said. 

Cullen recoiled slightly at her response. “What?” 

Katria was nearer to the door and raised her hand. “I’m not trying to overstep my bounds. I know we—well, never mind. Just think about it.” 

“Think about-,” 

The sound of the door shutting cut him off, and he was left alone in his cot. 

Cullen sat breathing through his nose for a few quiet minutes before he swallowed. Was there something to atone for in the way he treated his family after he joined the Order?

He bowed his head for even _asking_ a question like that. There were many, _many_ reasons why he’d been a bad brother, a bad son, to his family. He had suffered greatly in Kinloch Hold and wanted nothing more than to get away, wanted no one to see the man he had become.

But his family had suffered during the Blight, too. His parents died, not knowing if their eldest son was dead or alive. The pain his mother probably felt from that made Cullen burn with guilt most days. 

His mother was fiercely protective of her children, the way he imagined Mia was now. She had been completely against him joining the Order at such a young age. Once Mia, Bran, and Rosalie were behind it, and his gentle father, too, she’d been convinced to let him go. Then he’d stopped writing. She likely thought she had lost her son. Died thinking that.

Cullen buried his face in his hands. Now that Corypheus had been defeated, he had considered visiting his family in South Reach, or inviting them to Skyhold. But in the two weeks since Katria had returned from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, he had not written to Mia. This was his family, for Andraste’s sake, and he’d done nothing to hold onto them.

The Inquisition was something to hold on to as well, though. Corypheus was dead, but problems still remained. If he could still help and do good, would it really be right to give that up? As difficult as his job could be at times, he loved it. 

Or he had. 

Things were different now, harder, since he and Katria had separated. He felt an acute loneliness that she had once alleviated. He had other friends here, but they talked frequently of their departure. The tension that he felt whenever Katria was in the room was…draining. 

Cullen sometimes wondered if he should have tried harder to make their relationship work. He’d decided to end whatever was happening, and she had agreed, with no protest. There had been so much at stake after all. His work was important to him, and Katria maintaining her focus as Inquisitor was equally important. 

Now, she seemed to want nothing to do with him, which he supposed made sense. Their relationship had been fraught with complications. Why should she bother to put in the work for a broken ex-Templar when there were princes and arls and all manner of wealthy, noble men clamoring for her attention? She was probably thankful they ended things when they did. 

Cullen gently massaged his temple when an ache began to grow there. Obviously stressing himself out about something that couldn’t be repaired wasn’t going to help him feel better. On days like these, he wondered if anything would. 

===

Cullen sent a letter to Mia—it was the longest one he’d written to her in years. He told her about the Inquisition, their defeat of Corypheus, and, what was most difficult, he admitted he no longer took lyrium. 

After that, he thought very long and very hard about what the Inquisitor had said. About what his life would look like if he left his post. Certainly, returning home to his family could not be a bad thing—they deserved more attention than he’d given them over the past decade. But Cullen worried he’d be too different for them, still too fragile from everything that had happened since he joined the Order. 

This intense process of deliberation did not help his withdrawal. He still had tremors, headaches and bouts of dizziness. But most of all, he was exhausted to his very core. Cullen had subsisted on no sleep and little food for months—in battle and at Skyhold. He had heard some of his soldiers talking in astounded tones about how a man over thirty could manage to have that much stamina fighting with so little rest. 

The truth was, while he had that strength during their fight against Corypheus, his behavior cost him eventually—and it seemed that time had come. 

Cullen received a letter from Mia a few weeks later. Apparently his correspondence was more telling than he’d thought. His eldest sister seemed to know he was working entirely too hard for someone also forgoing lyrium; part of him wondered if Katria had written to her, disclosing the details about his life he hadn’t considered sharing, like his ill-health, for instance. 

Reading her letter, being reminded of her loving sternness, made him miss all his siblings. In the meanwhile, the family he had in Skyhold slowly trickled away. Varric returned to Kirkwall. Cassandra was sworn in as the Chantry’s Divine Victoria. Dorian returned to Minrathous with the new title of _Inquisition Ambassador to Tevinter_.

Katria remained, a constant reminder that he _could_ have perhaps had a family here with a woman he thought he had loved. It did not help that she was his boss. All this created a loneliness in him that was woefully familiar. He could not wrest himself from it. 

Unless, perhaps, he returned to his family. 

===

Cullen approached the Inquisitor in the War Room. She was sifting through reports, her attention absorbed in her task. He cleared his throat to get her attention. 

Katria looked up, but did not smile. She rarely smiled at him now. 

“Commander Cullen. How can I help you?” 

“I…” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve been thinking about what you’ve said.” 

She stood a little straighter, folding her arms across her chest. “About your family, I assume?” Her eyes slid down his frame. “Because you certainly haven’t taken my advice about letting up on your work.” 

“Yes,” he said. “I think…that is, I’ve decided maybe…” Cullen swallowed, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “I will be going to South Reach and leaving the Inquisition.” 

Despite the fact that his heart was thrumming in his chest, Katria seemed completely nonplussed. She didn’t speak immediately, just clenched her jaw before letting her hands drop calmly to her sides. 

“I see,” she said. “I assume you have a suitable replacement in mind for your position?” 

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he replied. “I have every intention to remain here to adequately train the person I have chosen.” 

Katria turned her attention back to the table. “Very well. Thank you for letting me know, and of course, thank you for your service to the Inquisition.” She gestured vaguely with one hand without looking up. “You may speak to Ambassador Montilyet about some sort of monetary severance package, if you wish. Your work was certainly enough to merit a stipend from the Inquisition for a decent amount of time.” 

“Of course, Inquisitor.” 

Cullen stood there in silence for a while, staring at her, marveling at her coldness. He had hoped his departure would mean more to her. He _deserved_ her professionalism, he supposed. It’s what he wanted, after all—for her to stay focused on her role as Inquisitor. Cullen eventually left the War Room and told himself he was imagining things when he heard a sigh and a small sniffle just before the door closed. 

Everyone _else_ cared greatly about his resignation. It warmed his heart, but it was nothing like the rush of excitement he felt when each of his siblings wrote to him about how glad they were he was returning home. Rosalie’s letter was even dotted with tears, but Mia mentioned that she was a few months pregnant, so her emotions were perhaps triggered by _that_ more so than his impending arrival. Regardless, their excitement placated his fears that they would not want their long-neglecting brother to even bother trying to reconnect with them.

His replacement—Rylen, naturally—needed little guidance. Many of his superior officers and soldiers had left after Corypheus was defeated, but not Rylen. The remaining troops all respected him, and he had the reputation for solving problems, no matter how small. He kept his eye on the larger needs of the Inquisition as well as the smaller intricacies of the upkeep of the army. Cullen thought he and Katria would get along well. Not too well, though. 

In a matter of weeks, he was prepared to leave Skyhold for South Reach. He was thankful when Josephine arranged no massive farewell banquet for him. His precise reasons for leaving were not ones that he necessary liked to share. However, Cullen could not escape from the small dinner their Ambassador corralled him into, though he enjoyed being with his friends who remained at Skyhold. It did not surprise him that Katria wasn’t present. 

Cullen left alone early in the morning, which was the way he preferred it. As he loaded up his horse, he tried not to be nostalgic. His time at the Inquisition was inextricably tied with his memories of Katria that had once been good. All he cared to remember is that he did good here. Unequivocally. After Kirkwall, he had finally found a cause he knew was right, and he’d fought for it and emerged victorious. Now, his family could get the attention they deserved.

As he worked, a pair of feet stamped down the grass beside him. Cullen turned from his horse and his brow rose. 

“Inquisitor?”

Despite the fact that it was only an hour after sunrise, Katria did not look like she had just woken up. Her cheeks were flush from the cold morning air, and strands of her dark hair had fallen from her braid, which often happened by the end of the day, rather than the beginning. 

“I…simply came to see you off,” she said, her mouth ticked up in a nervous smile. “I was not able to attend Josephine’s little interlude, and I felt badly so…” 

“It’s not a problem, Inquisitor,” Cullen replied, strapping his last bag to his horse before turning to her. He shifted awkwardly after a few moments, wondering what sort of goodbye would be appropriate. Perhaps he could thank her again for defeating Corypheus.

No words were necessary on his part because Katria took a step forward and without pausing, hugged him. _Hugged_ him—one arm around his neck, the other at his waist. He felt the air leave his lungs in one surprised exhale. It had been months since he’d had any sort of contact with her. Cullen hesitantly returned her embrace, leaning in enough that her hair tickled his face. He had forgotten how tall she was, how she smelled. She held on for longer than he expected, and he hoped she didn’t notice the way his heart was hammering in his chest. 

Eventually, Katria pulled away, stepping back a good distance while nodding and giving a small smile. 

“Farewell, Cullen,” she said. She stopped and cleared her throat. “I—I want...I hope you're happy there. Really.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, more uncertain than ever. 

Katria gave a weak wave, then turned on her heel and marched off. Cullen watched her go, until she disappeared up the steps into the Great Hall. He turned and grabbed the reins of his horse. That was not what he expected—she’d hugged him for so long. 

Cullen abruptly stopped and furrowed his brow when he realized that her hand had been moving the whole time, the one at his waist near his pocket. It did feel heavier now. Perhaps she had left something; a note, or some memento?

He slid his hand into his coat, and sure enough, found something there. Cullen pulled it out, holding it in his palm, as his heart sank just a little. 

It was his coin.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two Years Later._

“Josephine, you are _literally_ killing me.” 

“I’m quite sure that’s not true, Inquisitor.” 

Katria let out a little gasp, and then a low hiss when the middle of the dress she had on was unceremoniously yanked tighter around her center. She threw a glare at her Ambassador from her place on the small pedestal in her quarters. 

“Oh, forgive me, you’re making _me_ want to kill someone _else_.” 

Josephine tutted, not even looking up from the report in her hands. “Don’t be so sullen, Inquisitor. Arnaud is almost done with the alterations.” 

The small Orlesian man circling her gave only a grunt of assent. Katria was convinced the tailor purposely pricked her with some of the hundreds of pins he put in her gowns. She was not the most cooperative of clients.

Katria sighed. “But _why_ are we having another gown made?” 

“It’s always good to be prepared,” Josephine told her. “King Alistair will likely be throwing a Wintersend banquet in Denerim. You’ll need something to wear.” She smiled politely as she surveyed the gown. “It looks lovely, Inquisitor.” 

Leliana was on the couch beside her. She smiled brightly. “It does!” She held out two pairs of dark blue slippers to Katria. “Do you prefer the gold or silver lining?” 

“I’d prefer to just die now, thank you.” 

The Spymaster rolled her eyes. “And you say you have no flare for drama.” She turned to Josephine, who tapped her chin, then pointed to the slippers with the silver lining. 

“Can I get out of this now?” Katria asked plaintively. Her lungs were constricted so tightly she was convinced they must be touching. 

“If Arnaud is finished,” Josephine replied. 

Katria looked at the tailor, giving him the best hopeful smile she could muster. He sighed and muttered something in Orlesian before he began undoing the small cloth buttons down the back of the dress. She wiggled out of it before he was finished, staggering over to her breeches and tunic. 

Arnaud gathered up his things after rehanging the dress. Josephine traded a few words with him, lavishing him with gratitude, before he bowed slightly and disappeared down the stairs. As soon as he left, another visitor slipped into the room.

“Rylen!” Katria exclaimed, beaming. “I’m so glad to see you.” 

Rylen paused and furrowed his brow, while adjusting the stack of reports under his arm. “You are?” he asked, in his heavy Starkhaven accent. 

She ushered him to the couch beside her other advisors. “Yes. We don’t have to talk about shoes now that you’re here.” 

Leliana smirked. “You’d prefer to talk about violence?” 

Katria walked over to her desk, resting her fist against it and sighing. “The reports haven’t improved?” she asked. 

“They have,” Leliana said. “Arl Teagan sends his thanks. The men Commander Rylen sent to Redcliffe have driven the Keepers out of the area.” 

Katria felt the tension in her muscles ease a little with that news. Her biggest problem as the Inquisitor remained the conflict between Templars and mages. Cassandra’s reforms of the Order and the Circle almost two years ago prompted a new sect of dissenters, the ‘Keepers’, to emerge—they demanded a return to the status quo on the threat of war. 

And war they got. The Inquisition, along with the newly-reformed Seekers, fought their influence and mostly restored the peace. However, the Keepers had powerful allies in conservative mages like Vivienne, who, much to Katria's chagrin, quickly became a political enemy to the Inquisition and Divine Victoria. 

In the last year, the Keepers' efforts against the Inquisition and the Divine were renewed with vigor because Katria had pushed for more radical reforms within the Circles that allowed mages even more latitude. The rebels concentrated their efforts in Ferelden because Cassandra commanded greater control of Orlais from her seat in the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux. The south of Ferelden, further from Denerim, saw the most violence. 

“Redcliffe was too close to Skyhold for the Keepers to think any attack there would work,” Katria remarked, her lips pressed together. “How about in South Reach and the Bannorn?” 

Rylen rested his arm along the back of couch, leaning against it with a familiarity that Katria appreciated in the face of Josephine’s sometimes suffocating formality. 

“We’ve contained the threats there, as well, Inquisitor,” he said. “Although it was hard-fought.” 

As Katria pinched the bridge of her nose, Josephine spoke up. “I think it would be good for morale for the Fereldens to see you moving through the south,” she said. “We’ve always had our strongest base of support in the Hinterlands, and we need to work to maintain it.” 

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Katria replied, lowering her hand. “I’ve been spending entirely too much time in Orlais, anyway.” She looked over at Rylen. “Do we need to make any changes to our troop numbers in that area?” 

He stood and handed her a report. “I suggest we move some of our units from South Reach to the Brecilian Passage. Arl Bryland’s men and some renegades have been incredibly helpful restoring order, so our men will be more useful elsewhere.”

“Really?” she said, as she scanned the report. “I’m glad for the help.” 

“I could arrange for some commendations, additional supplies and coin to that area,” Josephine interjected, crossing her ankles. “As a gesture of gratitude to the men in South Reach.” 

“Good plan,” Katria said. “Leliana, let’s ensure that money goes to the people and not into Bryland’s coffers.” 

“Of course, Inquisitor.” 

She dropped the report back onto her desk then slumped into her chair. She pried the cork off a bottle nearby, before Josephine cleared her throat. 

“It’s not even an hour past breakfast,” she said.

Katria sighed and pushed her glass away. She looked at Rylen. “You see how little fun they are?” 

Rylen smirked. “I am well aware.” 

Katria folded her arms across her chest. “When you said renegades in South Reach, what did you mean?” 

He leaned against her desk. “That’s not the right word, but they aren’t the arl’s men, either. A Ferelden veteran has been leading a group of soldiers against bandits, the Keepers, other threats. Training them to protect their own land.” 

Katria lifted her feet onto her desk. “Anyone interested in joining the Inquisition, you think?” 

Rylen cleared his throat, his lip drawing up in a small smile. Leliana straightened with a smug expression on her face. 

“I’m sure they’d be eager to meet you while you visit South Reach,” she said. “Especially their leader.” 

Josephine covered her mouth, muffling a delicate laugh. Katria narrowed her eyes suspiciously. 

“Why is that?” 

Rylen turned as he sat on the edge of her desk, his eyes glinting. “Cullen is their leader.” 

Katria _knew_ they were trying to get a rise out of her, so she sealed her mouth shut, trapping a surprised noise in her throat. Her muscles reflexively tensed at the sound of his name. It was not something she heard often. 

“O-Oh.” She gave a nonchalant shrug. “Or, I mean—that’s good. Great. That it’s him. Because he’s…he’s trustworthy, and…and so, ah, of course I’ll arrange a visit.” 

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Leliana drawled, with a knowing smile so large her cheeks were probably aching.

Katria huffed. “You are all children. This isn’t—isn’t about us.” 

“It’s not?” Rylen asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“No. No way,” she said, waving her hand. “It’s been years. I don’t think about him or consider…anything about him.” She sat up, shuffling through the parchment on her desk. “If you all are done giggling like children, we can move on to…I don’t know, anything else.” 

Her advisors exchanged knowing looks before Josephine consulted the papers strewn around the table in front of her. 

“If you leave within the week for the Hinterlands, you should be back by the time Hawke arrives,” she remarked. 

“Varric’s scheduled a visit, too, I assume?” Katria asked. 

Leliana grinned. “Obviously. His reconstruction efforts in Kirkwall probably require more Inquisition coin.” 

“One of the many things we’ll negotiate about, I’m sure,” she said, flopping back against her chair. “It will be good to see them. Him. Varric, I mean.” 

They took a few more hours to work through the myriad of issues at the Inquisition’s feet. Their meetings now were more casual than when Katria fought Corypheus—sometimes they’d even meet in the gardens, but they were typically just as long as they had been. 

Josephine and Rylen eventually rose from their places to leave, but Leliana stayed behind and sauntered over to her desk. 

“You really have no opinion on going to South Reach?” she asked. 

Katria glanced up at her, giving a long exhale. Though the members of her inner-circle came and went from Skyhold, Leliana was a constant in her life and subsequently one of her dearest friends. 

“What opinion should I have?” Katria muttered. “He and I haven’t spoken in almost two years. Am I supposed to still be pining for him or something?” 

Leliana gave an amused grin. “Are you?” 

She snorted. “No.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “ _Definitely_ no. I mean, I bet…” She leaned back and looked away because she knew she was blushing. “I bet he’s aged _terribly_. And has a gut. Wears an even stupider coat than he did before. Utterly devoid of interest in me.”

At least she desperately hoped that. Or that he wasn’t nearly as handsome as he was in her memories.

Leliana pulled a report from under her arm. “I had my agents look into his group and they complied some information on him, if you’re interested.” 

Katria greatly resisted the urge to snatch the parchment from her and devour its contents. She shifted awkwardly. “Oh,” she said. “I…It’s alright.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked, waving the report in front of her like a bone in front of a mabari. 

“I’m sure,” Katria sputtered. She cleared her throat. “You know, what you lot are implying is just _ridiculous_. I have zero interest in Cullen. I mean, sure, I haven’t been serious with anyone since being with him, but it’s because I’m the _Inquisitor_ for Andraste’s sake.”

Leliana walked over to her chess set and placed the report gently on it. “I understand. I’ll leave this here. For purely professional reasons, of course.” 

“Purely _professional_ ,” Katria repeated sternly. Her interest in whether or not he was married or other details about his personal life were concerns of the Inquisitor. 

Leliana waved to her and headed for the door. Katria sat rigid in her chair, listening to each clap of her boot as she walked down the stairs. After hearing the door creak open, she waited about two seconds with her fists clenched before scrambling across the room for the report. She grabbed it in both hands, scanning the first few sentences. 

“Oh, Inquisitor-,” 

Katria jumped in surprise upon hearing Leliana’s voice. She threw the report into the fireplace and tried to nonchalantly lean against the mantle. 

“W-What?” she stammered out. 

Leliana smirked at her. “I’m not giving you another one of those.” 

“Well—well, _good_ ,” Katria replied petulantly. “Because I didn’t really care that much.” 

“And I wasn’t even looking at it in the first place!” she called after Leliana, as the Spymaster shook her head and finally, _actually_ left the room.

Katria collapsed back against the wall with a sigh. She was not looking forward to how idiotic she would probably act once she came face-to-face with Cullen. She desperately needed to practice her professionalism again. That would be what he wanted, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I’d mention one final thing and then be done blabbing so much. Obviously because this fic takes place after the events of DAI, there has to be some speculation on my part about what might happen in Thedas. It’s very important to me to be as accurate as possible, so I’ve come across some good nuggets of information (like the name of the arl in South Reach), but other things I just have to claim and then go with it. I also didn’t want to info-dump in these first chapters, so some tidbits will come out gradually later on. Hopefully everything is as logical as possible, but feel free to comment if something seems awry. Y’all are awesome! 
> 
> I promise that next chapter, the dorks will meet again.


	3. Chapter 3

Katria’s habits traveling through Ferelden hadn’t changed over the years, although Cassandra was no longer around to complain about them. On her trip, she visited Redcliffe first, then moved east through the Hinterlands, stopping to assist with tasks that Josephine would deem below her station. 

That is _precisely_ why she did those things, though. As the Inquisitor, Katria had been presented before the court in Orlais, honored at banquets in Denerim—statues were erected in her honor and her name was whispered excitedly in the towns she visited. Feeling like a normal person, doing normal tasks, assuaged the anxiety she still felt about the expectations Thedas had for her. 

A month passed before she arrived in South Reach with an entire unit of Inquisition soldiers, her personal guard, and Bull’s Chargers in tow. The young daughter of the head healer in Skyhold, who was Katria’s ‘apprentice,’ had also tagged along after begging and simpering for weeks about it. 

“Hey, Boss, hold up.” 

Katria peered around on her saddle, her gray cloak catching the cold wind and flying past her shoulder. Bull trotted up on his horse, gesturing for her to stop. 

“Security check’s not done yet.” 

Katria sighed impatiently, but acquiesced. She had vehemently fought having a personal guard for almost a year after Corypheus was defeated, but her reforms of the Circle and the Templar Order made her many enemies. The kind of enemies that wanted to kill her in increasingly creative ways. 

Katria had eventually consented to the idea, and Blackwall volunteered to be the head of her personal Inquisition unit. He was likely more flexible with her than he should be, but Katria appreciated him like she appreciated Josephine—she was aware they had some of the most difficult jobs in the Inquisition. 

“This seems unnecessary,” Katria remarked. “For Andraste’s sake, we’re in rural Ferelden.” 

“I think you’ve done this Inquisitor thing long enough to know that you should always be vigilant,” Bull said. He smirked. “So, I’m going to assume you’re just especially eager to make it into town for some _other_ reason. I wonder what it is…” 

Katria tugged on the reins of her horse and began trotting forward. “Bull, you are a dear friend, but I _will_ snap off one of your horns and stab you with it.” 

He snorted. “An idle threat, if I’ve ever heard one. I can read you like an open book, Boss.” 

They reached the crest of a hill, and Katria could see the thatched roofs that lined the main road—it reminded her of the Crossroads in the Hinterlands. The area seemed more congested than usual, likely because of her visit. They were traveling at the tail end of the winter season, so the area was only sparsely green. A few miles down the road, past the dim fog that hung over Ferelden sometimes, she could see the arl’s castle perched on the rocky bank of the Drakon River. 

“I’m sure there are better uses of your time, Bull,” Katria said, throwing back her head to give him a smirk. “Isn’t there some conspicuous Tevinter you should be writing a love letter to?”

Bull shrugged. “I don’t know about love letters, but I _did_ write Dorian and bet him twenty silver you’d fuck Cullen before you left.” 

Katria blanched, a red flushing her cheeks before she laughed. Bull’s incredibly blunt wit was normally something she enjoyed while traveling. When it wasn’t directed at her. 

“I will buy you an ale after you _lose_ that bet,” she shot back with a grin.

They rode down to the bottom of the hill. Her guards were posted on either side of the road and saluted her as she passed. Many of the villagers stopped to watch her, and she waved to them. At the town center, Katria slid off her horse in front of a well-dressed man in armor. His shield bore the Bryland coat of arms, so she assumed he was one of the arl’s men. 

He bowed deeply to her, which was unusual for most Fereldens. “My Lady Inquisitor, it is my honor to welcome you to South Reach. I’m Captain Meridy, at your service.”

As he straightened, she offered him her hand to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain. Let me first express my utmost gratitude for the work your men have done here against the rebels.” 

Meridy smiled at her. “It’s our pleasure, Your Worship.” His expression faded slightly, and he cleared his throat. “Although, we did not achieve this stability alone.” 

Her heart stuttered, then began beating at a more rapid pace. “I have heard that,” she said carefully, since the arl’s men were likely a tinge miffed that a rag-tag group of farmers and merchants had been trained so well they could defend parts of South Reach themselves. “I appreciate your honesty about the matter.” 

He shifted. “Yes, well, Cullen has done a remarkable job training his…recruits.” Meridy looked behind him, his eyes searching the horizon. “In any case, I am here to extend an invitation to Arl Bryland’s estate during your stay here.” 

“That is very gracious of him,” Katria replied with a customary smile. “As he has no doubt heard, however, I prefer to stay closer to the towns I visit. It gives me a better indication of what the people in the area are in need of. We’ve rented space in the tavern.” 

Meridy bowed slightly again. “An unorthodox habit with noble intentions, Your Worship.” 

Katria gave a small laugh. “What a nice way of putting of it. I’ll have to tell that one to my Ambassador the next time she protests to my plans.” She patted his shoulder as she turned back to her horse. “Please tell Arl Bryland I would be happy to pay him a visit within the week.” 

Meridy perked up at their contact—people always did, like they were astounded at Katria’s informality, her willingness to interact with those deemed “common.” 

“I will at once, Inquisitor. Thank you.” 

Meridy hurried off to his horse, and Katria turned to hers, finding comfort by running her fingers through its short, bristled hair. She should run away now, probably. Find some excuse—there were so many—to not meet with Cullen. 

She lifted her head to find a member of her guard, but instead felt a weight lean against her and tug at her side. 

“Is he here yet?” a voice asked excitedly. 

Katria sighed and looked down at Bailey, the healer’s daughter, her new apprentice, a girl who she’d met in Haven and who was almost like her own child. It made a ghost of a smile flash across her face.

“You’ve been talking to Bull haven’t you, little duck?” 

The girl gave a toothy grin. “Only a little. He didn’t say anything inappropriate, I promise.” 

She was lying; Bull _always_ cursed or said lewd things, but before she could reply, Bailey huffed, her lips in a pout. 

“Also, stop calling me that.” 

Katria rolled her eyes. Bailey had turned thirteen a few weeks ago and insisted she was no longer a _little_ duck. “I can call you whatever I’d like, apprentice.” 

Bailey let go of her and put her hands on her hips. “Quit changing the subject.” 

“There is nothing to discuss about your _original_ subject,” Katria replied, unhooking one of her bags from her horse. She slung it over her shoulder and turned, before she spotted a figure down the road and an embarrassing, though small, gasp left her throat.

Her acuity at finding Cullen among a crowd was frustrating, but the line of his shoulders, the way he held himself so rigidly and confidently even in just a tunic and breeches, could never escape her notice. His sword, which she recognized, was strapped to his side; it moved as he crossed his muscular arms and shifted while speaking to one of her guards. 

Katria, finally broken from her paralysis, spun around and tried to follow her horse as it was taken to the stables. 

“No,” Bailey said with a grunt, bracing herself against Katria. “Nope. You’re going over there.” The girl turned her back around. 

And then Katria saw the woman beside Cullen. She had her hand rested casually on his lower arm as they spoke; perfect, slender, white fingers against his red tunic. Katria could only see her profile, but the woman was beautiful. She was positively glowing, her face a series of charming shades of red and gold from her rosy cheeks and lips to the wavy, copper-colored hair falling down her back. Her body was petite, delicate—a simple cotton dress covered her _frustratingly_ perky breasts. 

Fuck. Of _course_. Cullen looked like a prince. He was a brilliant soldier with a heart of gold. He could have any rural Ferelden woman he so pleased, especially a young one. A young, beautiful, unblemished flower.

Katria had been too tall, too sturdy, too _marred_. Too old now, on top of all that. She and Cullen were the same age, but he had clearly recognized the need for a younger, more fertile bride. 

The woman turned, hoisting up the—the…

The _child_ in her arms. The chubby _child_ with perfect skin like marble, a dusting of blonde hair on his little head under his hat. 

Katria felt emotions she’d rather die than admit to, but they tore her asunder, gutted her—she was a bottle smashed against the wall, transformed into sharp, glistening pieces of glass. 

The child reached out, clenching his little fingers in Cullen’s tunic. He gave a warm, adoring smile _to his child_. A child who looked almost two years old, which meant Cullen wasted no time finding this woman and impregnating her. _With his child_. 

Katria wanted to run, cry, break something, panic, so naturally, she stood there, her cloak tangling in her legs, and laughed. 

Cullen perked up, finally noticing her, their eyes meeting, brown to blue, whiskey swirling in water, and the corner of his mouth lifted up in a smile. He walked over to her, the woman and child trailing a few feet behind him. It felt like an eternity. Or perhaps she treated it like an eternity because she studied every single detail of his face. 

His hair was not as strictly slicked back as it had once been—it was close to the same length, maybe a little longer, the golden ends curling at the nape of his neck. He was tanner, his cheeks and brow darkened by the sun, and his strong jaw was covered in a healthy amount of stubble, more than she’d ever seen. It could be called a beard, even. His wife probably hated how prickly it was when he kissed her. 

Katria regulated the expression on her face like she’d practiced doing for so long with Josephine. She’d hid pain all her life, but being the Inquisitor necessitated doing it better. She unwrinkled her brow, relaxed her face, letting her diplomatic smile grace her lips. 

Cullen stopped, hesitating for just a moment before he held out his hand to her. She shook it, firmly, a single pump in which she ignored the anxiety that shot through her. 

“Inquisitor,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Katria dropped his hand, scrambling for words, slipping and flailing on the frozen plain that was currently her mind. 

“You…have so much hair on your face.” 

She internally winced when those words left her lips. _Yes. Awesome. Fantastic,_ she thought. _Way to be an idiot and greet the man you haven’t seen in two years with the equivalent of: nice beard, Cullen_.

His brow puckered in the center before he gave an awkward laugh that simply sounded like a short exhale. He self-consciously ran his palm along his jaw. “Yes, I suppose I do.” 

“I-,” Katria cleared her throat. “I mean, it’s nice to see you, too.”

“Cullen!” 

Bailey darted out from behind her with a huge smile and slung her arms around his middle. Cullen recoiled slightly in surprise, looking down at the top of her hair and cocking his head. He pulled back and held onto her shoulders. 

“Bailey?” he began incredulously. “Maker’s breath, you’ve gotten tall!” 

Katria silently thanked the Maker, Andraste, anyone who was listening, for the distraction that was this lanky blonde child. 

Cullen looked at the sling strapped across Bailey’s back and chuckled when a small white fox poked its head out. 

“Still got the pet fox, I see,” he said. 

Bailey nodded enthusiastically. She was a Ferelden through and through in that way—she loved animals much more than people. 

“His legs are too short, so I carry him when we travel far,” she explained. She craned her neck around, snapping her fingers once, as a Mabari nearby lifted its snout from the pile of dirt it was rolling in. It gave a small chuff and trotted over. 

“I got a Mabari, too,” she said proudly. Katria was actually the one who had gotten it for her two years ago because it seemed like the requisite animal for a Ferelden to have. 

Cullen reached down and patted the dog on the head. “What’s his name?” 

“Pickles.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “You named your fierce, Ferelden war-dog _Pickles_?”

Bailey turned and squished the dog’s face in her hands, nuzzling its nose. “I like it.” 

“That’s what’s important,” he replied, before turning sideways, holding out his arm. To the attractive woman. And the child. 

Katria kept her smile on her face with renewed vigor. The woman was more beautiful up close, Maker forsake her. She had a stunning, giddy smile on her face—she would probably gush and be as nice as possible to Katria. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said. “This is my youngest sister, Rosalie, and my nephew, Jacob.” He sighed and shook his head. “She was positively insistent about meeting you.” 

Maker’s _fucking_ balls did Katria feel like an idiot. Cullen kept talking as Katria melted with relief on the inside, although she would never admit to it. 

“Ros, this is Inquisitor Trevelyan and her…” Cullen looked over at Bailey with a confused expression, which is what people often did. 

“Apprentice,” Bailey supplied, rocking on the balls of her feet. 

“Thank you. This is her apprentice, Bailey,” Cullen finished. 

Rosalie clasped her free hand to her heart, bouncing once. “It is such an honor to meet you, Your Worship. I have read all of Varric Tethras’ books about you and I’m…well, I’m a huge fan.” 

Katria smiled slightly. “Varric tends to embellish when he writes, but thank you. It’s nice to meet you as well.” 

Rosalie was close enough to her that her son could reach out and clasp his tiny fingers around the Inquisition button on her armor. 

He pulled on it, making a gurgling noise. “Mine,” he declared.

Before Rosalie could pull him away, her expression horrified, Katria touched his arm and smiled at him. She liked children. Children were distractions from adults whom she had no intelligible words for. 

“Hi, there, Jacob,” she said, then looked at Cullen’s sister. “You have an adorable son.” 

Rosalie flushed a fetching shade of red. “Oh, Maker’s breath, thank you!” She pulled him away with a bashful smile. “Forgive me, Your Worship. He likes shiny things.” 

Katria slid her fingers along her belt, fidgeting, because Cullen was staring at her, and she had to speak to him eventually. 

“I’ve heard you’ve been busy,” she said. “I can’t say I was surprised when I heard you were the one driving the rebels from this area.”

“It was the least I could do,” he replied. “I got to put my skills to use. I’m not much of a farmer, I’m afraid.” 

Katria met his gaze. “Well, thank you,” she said. “Sincerely. We have always been lucky to have you on our side.” 

“No one benefits by protesting reforms with violence,” he replied with a nod. “We are happy to continue to work.” 

Katria’s lungs deflated, and their transition into business gave her heart a break from its frantic cadence. “I would love to hear about any intelligence your men have gathered about the Keepers,” she said. “If there’s a time you’d be available to talk strategy with me.” 

“You should come to the farm for dinner!” Rosalie blurted out. 

Cullen went rigid at that suggestion, and so did Katria. 

“Ros, I…” 

Katria lifted her hand. “I would not want to intrude, but thank-,” 

Rosalie was not giving up that easily. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” she said cheerfully. “We’d be honored to have the Inquisitor as our guest! My brother Bran is just dying to meet you. My sister Mia’s kids, too. Bailey can come!” 

“We’d love to!” Bailey interjected, and Katria shot her a frustrated look. 

“We would actually _not_ -,”

“Oh!” Rosalie exclaimed, practically blubbing with excitement. “Oh, this is going to be wonderful! I’ll head to Mia’s right now, and let her know! Bran is going to be so excited!” 

“Ros, wait-,”

She cut Cullen off with a little squeal and waved to them before skipping off. “See you soon!” 

Cullen rubbed his neck, watching his sister go. “Forgive me, Inquisitor,” he said sheepishly. “Ros means well. She is used to always getting what she wants.” Katria assumed it was because she was the youngest of four and an incredibly beautiful young woman. 

“I will tell her some urgent Inquisition business came up,” he said. 

“But we _want_ to come,” Bailey said. “Do _you_ not want us to?”

Cullen dropped his hand, clearing his throat nervously as a red tinge stained his cheek. “What? No. Um, no. You could…I mean, if you…” 

“We don’t want to intrude, Bailey,” Katria insisted, staring over at her with a stern look. 

The girl just smiled impishly back and plowed forward. “It’s not intruding,” she said. “They want to meet you. You’re the Inquisitor. Right, Cullen?” 

“Well, I…” He sighed. “I mean, yes, they do. Want to meet you.” 

Katria clasped her hands nervously together. “I won’t come if _you_ don’t want me to. If that would make it…” 

Cullen lifted his head and spoke quickly. “It does not matter to me, Inquisitor.” His voice was calm, casual, final. It had been two years and he clearly had nothing in the way of lingering feelings for her. 

Katria clenched her fingers, willing herself to match his tone. “I feel the same. I would be happy to stop by this evening as your guest.” 

“Excellent,” he replied smoothly. “Perhaps we can make time to discuss the rebel activity in the area.” 

Even when he wasn’t Commander of the Inquisition, Cullen could always find ways to talk about business. Katria just nodded in response. 

He gave her directions to Mia and her husband’s land—it was about a forty-five minute ride—and then departed with a small smile, calling her Inquisitor again, of course. 

Katria purposefully did not stare at him as he walked away, focusing on the straps of her bag. Bailey clasped her hands together behind her, rocking onto her toes with a satisfied smirk. 

“That was fun.” 

“You’re dead to me.” 

Katria started stalking away, and Bailey hurried after her, her fox bouncing on her back and Pickles jogging behind her. “Oh come _on_ ,” she said. “It’s just dinner.”

Katria huffed because it wasn’t _just_ dinner. It was complicated and weird, and _why_ had she had such an existential crisis when she thought Cullen was married? Did it really matter to her that much? 

She spat out those thoughts because they were thorny and difficult and emotional—she hated all those things in equal measure; she preferred to bundle up her feelings, lock them in a chest, and shove said chest off a high cliff. 

Katria had wit. She knew how to stay calm and glib. Now that she had stumbled and made an idiot out of herself, she was determined to be the picture of serenity when she visited Cullen at dinner. And she would succeed, too. 

As long as the visit didn’t last too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: Bailey’s an OC from my other fic. Should be the only one, and hopefully the gist of her is understood already. Le sigh. I struggled deciding to include her, but she does a lot of things for Katria and in the plot. Also, she has a pet fox, and my brother (who lives on a farm) has been sending me pictures of a baby fox he recently found, and it’s given me all the feels. Plus, I write for fun, as a hobby, so while OCs are not my preference, I’ll just bite the bullet. 
> 
> Sorry? Sorry. TMI, probably.


	4. Chapter 4

During daylight hours, the Rutherford household was typified by one thing: noise. There was always _plenty_ of noise and lots of shouting. 

“He’s shaving!” 

“Maker’s balls!”

“Bran! Language!”

“Sorry!” 

Cullen let the water cupped in his hands drip through his fingers into a small basin. He sighed; his siblings remained as raucous as ever, even in adulthood. He straightened and looked over at his now ajar door that lead to the hallway in Mia’s house. Rosalie was there, beaming at him, until Branson clomped up the stairs, sliding into his view with a frown. 

“See?” Rosalie said smugly, pointing to him. “Pay up.”

Cullen shook his head and turned back to the basin on the table beside his bed. “I am not entertained by this,” he said. 

“I’m not neither,” Branson replied, sliding a few pieces of silver into his sister’s open palm. “ _I_ tell you that you look like a traveling vagabond with that beard, and you do nothing. Then, Ros tells me the Inquisitor makes _one_ comment…” 

Cullen was toweling off his face. “Knock it off, Bran,” he said. “Your sister invited one of the most powerful figures in Thedas to dinner. I’m just trying to…look presentable.”

He pushed up the sleeves of his tunic as he crossed the room, shooing them impatiently aside so he could step into the hallway. He hurried down the narrow wooden stairs into Mia’s kitchen, where his eldest sister was chopping an onion with practiced precision. 

Cullen sat down at the table, resting his elbow along it and stretching his legs out. 

“Smells great,” he said. 

Mia grunted. “It was the best I could do given the short notice your dear sister gave me.” 

Rosalie had descended the stairs behind Bran. She slung herself into the chair beside Cullen. “I’m not going to apologize for taking advantage of an opportunity to get to know the Herald of Andraste.” Rosalie waved her hand dismissively. “Plus, she’ll like what you make.” 

Mia turned with a raised eyebrow. “Will she?” 

Rosalie straightened, her hands folded in her lap. “Inquisitor Trevelyan lived in Ferelden for almost ten years before she arrived in Haven. She’s used to a more rustic lifestyle.” 

Cullen groaned and rested his hand against his temple. If he had to hear one more fact about _Inquisitor Trevelyan_ that Rosalie had gleaned from Varric’s books, he was going to scream. She was, however, right. With any other noble, he would have perhaps worried that Mia’s home, while large and well-made, would be too rustic, too rough, for those used to gold filigree, silk and polished finishes. 

But Katria, for as long as he’d known her, was repelled by extravagant noble habits. The Winter Palace probably remained one of her least favorite Inquisition experiences. There were, of course, plenty of other things he worried about concerning Katria’s impending visit.

Rosalie noticed his reaction and huffed. “Excuse me for wanting to actually know things about her.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “ _You_ never answered any of my questions.”

Bran sat down beside his sister, his disheveled hair falling across his forehead as he leaned forward. “Yeah, Cullen, why didn’t you ever tell us how beautiful she was?” 

Rosalie nodded—the two of them had gossiped for hours leading up to Katria’s arrival. “She’s got a great nose.” 

Branson made some lewd, curvy gestures with his hands. “What about her _other_ features?” 

Cullen clapped his palm against the wood table. “Quit it,” he snapped. “You’re going to _respect her_ and not embarrass me.”

Branson leaned back with a satisfied smirk on his face. Mia put her hand on her hip and turned around. “Cullen, you know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” 

Cullen glanced briefly over at Mia and grunted. He knew _that_ about Branson before she even said it. 

Since his return to South Reach, Cullen had been as forthright as he could about what happened during his fifteen year absence. His siblings were, of course, most interested in the Inquisition. He tried to be as private and professional as possible, but Ros and Bran had heard just enough rumors from other places to be able to infer that _something_ more than a platonic relationship had existed between him and Katria.

Mia was who he could trust the most, which prompted him to share a few more bits of information with her, but Cullen thought it best to just forget the other things that happened. 

Which was proving _increasingly_ difficult to do as his entire family, the entire village, became consumed with the fact that the Inquisitor was arriving in South Reach. 

_“She’s here!”_

The squeaky voice of Rosalie’s oldest echoed through the house, and he heard the clamoring of limbs from the living room. His four nieces and nephews had been waiting with bated breath for Katria to arrive—she had slain four dragons, after all. 

Rosalie gave an excited squeal and shot up the stairs to fetch Jacob from his crib. Bran jumped up with as much vigor and threw open the door in the next room. 

Cullen put his feet flat on the floor, moving his other hand to his face with a long exhale. Mia continued to diligently work. She was not one to sit idle. 

“You _are_ going to be okay with this, aren’t you?” she asked. 

“It doesn’t seem like I have a choice,” Cullen muttered. 

Mia turned slightly, brandishing her wooden spoon. “True. That’s what happens when your ex-lover is the Herald of Andraste.” 

“Mia.” 

She gave a slight roll of her eyes. “Oh, yes, excuse me. I forgot that you like to skirt around the truth, rather than face any sort of difficult emotional situation.”

“It’s complicated,” he said, as he dragged himself to a standing position.

Mia wiped her tanned hands on her apron, then brought it over her head and hung it on the wall beside her. “Well, you will have to tolerate this complication for one evening, so your family can brag for eternity about how they met the Inquisitor.”

His sister walked out to the porch her husband had constructed a few years ago for the house. She sternly admonished the children, and Bran, reminding them to be polite and gracious to their guest. Cullen dragged his feet to where they were, standing back and leaning against the door frame. 

Two horses were trotting up the road to the house—he recognized Katria’s gray cloak immediately as it fluttered around her. She spotted them and raised her gloved hand. The children waved in return until she stopped and slid off her horse. Cullen shifted and looked down at the wood planks under him. He did not want to seem like he was staring, though the details of Katria’s face had been burned into his mind—not that he would admit that. 

It had embarrassed him that he recognized her laugh that afternoon. He’d heard it while talking to Ros, over his sister’s voice, over all other ambient noise, and had turned so sharply his head spun a little. 

Katria had looked…the same. Even now, as she dismounted her horse, affectionately running her fingers through its mane, her features were indistinguishable from the features of the woman who’d hugged him one last time two years ago in Skyhold. She had the same thick, dark hair, braided by Bailey, that was in complete disarray around her temple, so that shorter pieces fell across her face. The same blue eyes—eyes with brown rings around her pupils that would be visible if he got close enough to her. 

He would _not_ be getting close enough to her, though. 

“Welcome, Inquisitor!” 

Rosalie’s cheery voice made him lift his head. Katria was closer now, at the bottom of the three steps leading up the porch. Bailey was beside her, beaming, her dog at her feet, its tongue lolling from its mouth. 

Rosalie had wiggled her way to the front of the group, Jacob at her hip. For all Rosalie’s naïveté and frequent obliviousness, she was a friendly and warm-hearted person. If not a little _too_ energetic at times. 

She introduced everyone in almost one breath, giving Katria no time to speak. 

There were Rosalie’s set of twins, Olivia and Jack, who were five. Or six. Cullen couldn’t remember. Then, Mia’s two older children, Lydia—their mother’s name—and Thomas. Mia gave a polite smile when she was mentioned, but Bran—the minute his name came up, he burst forward, holding out his hand, a grin stretched across his face. 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Inquisitor,” he said. 

“You’re Cullen’s brother?” she asked, as she shook his hand. 

“His _younger_ brother,” Branson replied. “So I get the benefit of being awesome.” 

Katria laughed at his joke because _of course_ she would, even though Bran used it every time both he and Cullen were introduced to even a remotely attractive woman. 

Branson stepped aside, so Katria could climb up the porch. Cullen straightened when their eyes met, and he felt awkward and hoped he wasn’t blushing. She just gave him a warm smile. 

“Hi, Cullen.” 

He nodded. “Inquisitor.” 

Branson ushered the mass of children inside, and they shuffled past Cullen. The last little blonde head stopped and turned—it was Olivia. She scrunched up her brow. 

“I thought she’d be prettier.” 

Absolutely _all_ of the color drained from Rosalie’s face, her large brown eyes wide and terrified at her daughter’s remark. 

In the heavy silence, Katria burst out laughing, a short bark before she patted Olivia on the head. 

“Based on what they say about me, _I_ thought I’d be prettier too.” 

Olivia beamed because she was a five year old oblivious to the nuances of social correctness, then turned on her heel and skipped into the house. Rosalie sucked in a short breath of air. 

“I-Inquisitor, I—I’m….”

Katria smiled slightly. “Please, it’s alright. She _does_ have a point.” She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head with a small laugh. “I’ve seen the portrait of me on the cover of Varric’s book—his publishers made me look like I’m some perfect, majestic goddess with breasts entirely too large for practical things like being able to stand up without toppling over.”

Branson snickered, and Rosalie’s shoulders slumped in relief at Katria’s graciousness. Cullen was not surprised, although he quickly squashed the admiration he felt for her growing in his chest. Mia was about to slide into the house, a small grin on her face, when Bailey stopped in front of her just before the door. 

The girl pointed over at Pickles. “Is it alright if he comes inside?” 

Mia nodded. “This is Ferelden, dear, Mabaris are always welcome inside.” 

They both disappeared into the house, along with Bran, which left Cullen standing at the door frame with Katria. He rubbed the back of his neck and conspired to walk away, but she held his gaze. 

“You have less hair on your face,” she remarked with a grin. 

Cullen _would_ have probably fumbled with his words, if a _single_ phrase came to his mind. Unfortunately, nothing did. Something else that was the same about Katria was her charm—it utterly disarmed him.

He cleared his throat. “Um. Yes.” 

Without further preamble, he turned on his heel and retreated into the house. Cullen could have sworn he heard a little tinker of her laugh before her footsteps followed him. 

Katria hung her cloak by the door on Bran’s urging. She had the same long, slender legs and—Cullen veered into the kitchen to help Mia, cutting off any further ruminations about the rest of her body.

Rosalie excitedly shoved a set of plates into his chest, so he could lay them out while she went to talk to the Inquisitor. Cullen set the table as slowly as possible, which Mia, in her shrewdness, pointed out. 

He was eventually forced out into the main room of the house, and he hovered at the fringes of their conversation mostly because he was surprised. Katria—the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, slayer of a darkspawn magister from the dawn of time—was seated cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch. The children surrounded her, lavishing her with attention, as she dumped out the bag she’d carried in with her. 

She gave them each one piece of what was inside. Let them pick from dragon and wyvern scales, Inquisition buttons, phoenix feathers, everything else she’d gathered from her travels. Then, when they called her Inquisitor, she smiled and said that _Katria_ was fine. He hoped she did not think that meant _he_ would call her that.

It was—It was a little _frustrating_ that Katria was making herself so amenable to his family. Why would that matter to her? What was her game? 

Cullen did not get the chance to ask her these things because they were all herded to the dinner table, where Katria remained the consummate guest, while Cullen sulked. Rosalie _drowned_ her in questions, but Katria was nothing if not patient, so she answered them. 

“Is it true that Arl Teagan asked for your hand in marriage?” 

Cullen snapped his neck up from his meat pie. “Ros,” he said sternly. “Maker’s breath, don’t you think you’ve asked her enough questions?” 

“No,” Rosalie replied. “But I’m not being annoying.” She looked over at Katria. “I’m not being annoying, right?” 

“Not at all.” Katria put down her fork and wiped her hands on her napkin. “To answer your question, Arl Teagan did send me a contract, but my Ambassador decided the Inquisition would be better off vesting our interests elsewhere.” 

Bran smirked. “Is that the polite way of saying you didn’t want to marry him?” 

Katria smiled slightly. “I pay my Ambassador very well. She attempts to make me come across as inoffensively as possible to noble families.” 

Thankfully, Mia politely steered the conversation away from Katria’s marriage prospects back to Rosalie’s husband, Geoffrey, whom Ros could gush about for hours. He and Mia’s husbands had been gone for two weeks traveling north to the Bannorn to sell their remaining wheat crop. Bran was unmarried, but made sure to comment that he was simply waiting for the _right_ woman to come along. Cullen snorted because in the past two years, plenty of women had come along, and left or passed him by.

And then Rosalie dove right back into another question that made Cullen cringe. 

“What was it like growing up in Ostwick?” 

He almost, _almost_ interrupted. For Katria’s sake. Because maybe a small part of him still wanted to protect her. Cullen knew everything—knew how unkind Katria’s father had been to her, how her sister had stolen her inheritance and left her destitute, how deeply the death of her older brother had affected her. 

Katria lifted her head. “It was wonderful,” she said. “Ostwick is a vibrant city. I loved living near the ocean.” 

Cullen’s brow creased at her answer, her easy lie, but Thomas, Mia’s eldest, held his empty plate up with an earnest look. “I’m done. Can we take Katria to the lake now?” 

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Branson interjected. He paused as he began to stand and then looked at Mia. “If it’s alright with you.” Mia _was_ the requisite authority in the house. 

His sister nodded and waved her hand, making the children jump up from their separate table and all clamor for their coats and boots. Katria asked if she could help clean up, and Cullen bristled because she was just being so _incorrigibly_ charming, and it was all his family was going to talk about when she left. 

Katria helped gather up the plates, then was dragged out the door to the east side of the property, where there was a line of trees and a small pond. Cullen jogged up beside his brother. They were almost exactly the same height, so he leaned forward slightly in the hopes no one could hear him. 

“Give me a minute with…” 

Branson glanced over at him and wiggled his eyebrows, making Cullen scowl, before Bran hurried ahead to play with Bailey’s mabari. Cullen moved closer to Katria, but not so close that they were touching. He kept his eyes ahead on the others. 

“What, exactly, is your game, Inquisitor?” 

“Wicked Grace,” she replied. “But only if I’m winning.” 

Cullen abruptly stopped and grabbed her elbow—her humor was so _grating_ sometimes. “That isn’t what I meant,” he said. 

Katria looked up at him, her brow creased. “What are you talking about then? I’m not playing any games.” 

“You—you _are_ ,” he insisted. “The gifts, the lies. What do you want?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, how nefarious of me to give gifts to children,” she said, then folded her arms across her chest. “And as for the lies, while I have more patience for your sister’s questions than _you’d_ ever have, I’d rather not talk about how poorly things went for me when I was a child. It’s easier to lie.” 

“Of course it is.” 

Katria scowled. “You can be as much of an arse to me as you want, but I know you’re only doing it because you want your family to dislike me like you do.” 

“I don’t dislike you,” he said. 

She sighed. “Then why are you accusing me of playing games with your family when I’m simply trying to be nice?” 

“I—I just…” Cullen ran his hand through his loosened hair. What exactly was he supposed to say? The more his family liked Katria, the more they’d never shut up about her. The nicer and more admirable she was, the more he was forced to think about the fact that _he_ let this woman go.

Katria looked ahead of them—everyone else was far, almost out of view. She pushed her hair behind her ear. “Listen, Cullen, I’m doing my best to forget about…” She used both her hands to gesture in the space between them. “About _all this_. I don’t want things to be complicated. I came here because your sister asked me to, and I’m only trying to be nice. This will be over soon.” 

“For you, maybe,” he muttered. “They’re likely to never shut up about you once you leave.” 

Katria snorted. “And you think I haven’t heard about you from every imaginable person who’s come to South Reach with me?” She threw her hand up. “Harding even make a joke about it, and I thought she was terrified of me.”

Cullen’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “I’m sorry.” 

She shrugged. “It’s not your fault,” she grumbled, then looked over at him with a critical eye. “Though maybe if you had gotten even a _little_ less handsome, it wouldn’t be such a problem.” 

Cullen blushed then, moving his hand to the back of his head. He was infinitely grateful when a voice called out to him. 

“Hey! You two coming?” 

Katria waved to Branson in response and began walking in his direction. They reached the small pond that Cullen had once used as a place of solitude, much like the pond in Honnleath from his childhood. However, now that Thomas was old enough, he was allowed to go to the lake and supervise the others, so Cullen’s visits here were frequently interrupted by screaming children. Which he actually didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. 

Katria skipped rocks with them, played fetch with Pickles, even rolled up her pants legs to wade into the pond to catch a frog they spotted on a lily pad. Cullen watched her, all matter of uncomfortable, domestic emotions churning in his stomach that he simply refused to indulge himself in. After that, Bran was stupid enough to suggest that he and Katria duel each other with sticks—Bran’s childish nature astounded him sometimes, though he did claim to be the _fun_ brother. 

Katria was an Orlesian-trained duelist and a remarkable combatant, possibly one of the best he’d ever seen, though Cullen never told her that. She made Bran look like a fool, who at _best_ wielded a bow with some competence. She even surrendered her stick at one point and still managed to make Bran fall flat on his arse, which Cullen enjoyed seeing.

Eventually, the sun began sinking past the trees, and Cullen informed them all it was time to go inside. The children begged and pleaded and then Bran joined in, but he did not budge. Katria eventually chimed in, telling them it was time for her to return home, which only caused more moaning and wailing. 

Once they returned to the house, Katria said her goodbyes and Rosalie insisted in her enormously earnest way that she was _always_ welcome back here, and Cullen hoped Katria didn’t take the offer seriously. Though she probably wouldn’t. 

She was fastening her cloak across her throat when Cullen worked up the courage to approach her. To discuss business of course. 

“We didn’t have time to talk about strategy, it seems,” she remarked, letting her arms fall to her side. 

“Yes, you made yourself quite popular tonight.” Cullen couldn’t decide if he meant that bitterly, but the way Katria’s lips tightened told him she received it that way. 

She soothed her hair back from her face. “I’ll be busy with Arl Bryland for the next week, but I’d be happy to meet with you after that.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “A whole week?” 

Katria sighed and shrugged. “You know how nobles are. Even Ferelden ones. They want to have all sorts of interludes and hunting trips before we talk business.” She looked away from him. “Plus, Josie thinks Bryland is going to be pushing one of his sons on me. You know, as a marriage prospect.” 

Cullen felt the muscles in his neck tense. “You aren’t…um, happy about that?” 

Her eyes rose to meet his, brow raised. “Well, apparently the boy just recently celebrated his _twentieth_ name day, so no, I am not happy about it.” She huffed. “And before you even think about it, _yes_ , it is odd for a noble family to push for a union with a woman more than ten years older than their son, but he’s the ‘spare heir’ as it were, so him marrying me would be…you know because I’m…and it’s not like I can’t _not_ have…”

Cullen knew it probably made him look like an arse, but her fumbling gave him a satisfied smirk. “I understand,” he said. 

Katria cleared her throat. “Yes. Well. You asked.” She began fiddling with the middle of her cloak, her fingers running along the Inquisition heraldry embroidered on the edges. “So, ah, this never came up, but… but have you—a-are you currently involved in…with anyone?” 

The question crippled Cullen because _no of course he wasn’t involved with anyone_. There had been women, one or two, in South Reach, but he couldn’t do serious anymore. He’d tried a meaningful relationship with _her_ , and it failed miserably, and it had hurt so Maker-forsaken much. He was—had been—still was—too scared to try again.

That answer, in his opinion, conveyed an incredible amount of weakness, so he straightened up, snapping into that professional mode that was like a second skin to him. 

“I don’t think we should discuss those things, Inquisitor. It would be inappropriate.” 

Her lips parted a little, and she blinked. “Right,” she said. “ _Right_. Forgive me.” She looked away, over at the porch, motioning Bailey over to their horses. Katria waved to everyone, glanced back at him. 

“I look forward to hearing your report about this area next week. I’ll stay in touch.”

And then Katria left, keeping that gracious smile on her face, and Cullen felt—Maker, he felt bad for what he had said. To diminish that guilt, Cullen returned to the house and worked, fending off the teasing and questions he received from his siblings. 

His job here in South Reach was nothing like being Commander of the Inquisition, of course. It was part-time, something he did at the table in Mia’s kitchen, a map spread out before him, where he’d make notes and marks based on the morning reports he received from his small group of men. They didn’t even train daily—just at sunrise three times a week, where Cullen would teach them proper technique, so that if rebels, the Keepers, or bandits, came to their homes, they would know what to do. Cullen was only doing what he could to help, but his charges were so successful, and the information they gathered being spread around South Reach so accurate that it had not escaped the arl’s notice. 

Cullen worked for the rest of the night, trying to ignore the conversation from the next room that revolved around the Inquisitor. 

The good news was that the guilt he harbored about his behavior slowly began to ebb away. What did he have to be sorry for? The two of them lived hundreds of miles apart now; they had ended things, and it should stay that way. What exactly could either of them expect to happen? That in the two meager weeks she’d stay here, somehow everything would be magically fixed between them? Just because Cullen was healthier, just because his family liked her? Ludicrous. Naïve to even consider.

In fact, he’d done the _right_ thing, cutting the conversation off like that. He could not give into his impractical whims just because—because he’d wanted to ask _her_ that exact question, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long. Feedback appreciated because wow what still even is this. All these emotions everywhere and no darkspawn magister to fight? *shakes head* (there were still be a little action/adventure later because yay) 
> 
> Also, it’s not a super huge deal, but for reference, I had Katria and Cullen both at around 32 years old during the events of the game, which means in this story they’re 33-34. That obviously does conflict with Cullen’s recently released canon age of 30, but I figured I’d keep it the way it is for continuity because it’s not that large of a difference, and geez, I’d like to think the Commander of the Inquisition was _into_ his 30’s with that kind of job as opposed to just entering his 30’s.


	5. Chapter 5

Katria’s accommodations in the tavern were fairly nice. South Reach was a large village, the only place remotely ‘urban’ nestled in sprawling acres of farmland. She was given a spacious room with a fireplace, a large bed, and a window that allowed light to stream into her room in the mornings as the sun rose. 

That light is precisely what woke her up earlier than she’d like most days. But even if she managed to squeeze her eyes shut, or pull the covers over her head, Bailey always burst into the room, hauling a tray with tea and sweet rolls for breakfast. 

This morning, Katria was already slumped against the chair by her fireplace, her arm rested in her lap, as she inspected the mark on her palm. It was, according to Dorian, all but dormant now. The Breach had been sealed, and all other rifts that had opened in its wake had been closed in the past two years. It required a lot of traveling, but Dorian said completing that task stabilized the Veil, strengthened it, which meant it would take a tremendous amount of power for anyone to try Corypheus’ stunt again, and it would prevent anyone from successfully replicating Alexius’ time-travel magic. 

Katria lifted her head when the door opened. Bailey stepped in, then closed the door with her foot as she slipped into the room and placed the tray down. She smiled when her fox trotted a few feet behind her and then leapt up into the bed. Pickles, of course, was there also, but settled at their feet by the fireplace.

“I brought you an extra sweet roll!” she announced. 

Katria arched an eyebrow. “Because you want something from me?” 

Bailey slumped down in the other plush chair. “No…” 

She leaned forward, pouring them each a cup of tea. “Come on. Spit it out.” 

The girl took her mug and saucer and raised her other hand. “Okay, hear me out. I’m your apprentice, right? And you’re a duelist and Heir trained you to be an assassin, so I have to learn those things too. Miller said that I could go-,” 

“No.” 

Bailey threw her arm down impatiently, making her cup clink in her other hand. “You didn’t even let me finish!” 

Katria sighed and leaned back. “Alright,” she said. “Go ahead, little duck.” 

“Not _little_ ," she said reflexively, then scooted forward in her chair with an earnest expression. "Since the situation here in South Reach is so _stable_ , Miller said I could go on a scouting mission with her! It would just be for the day, and we’d only be out in the forest and by the river, and it would be _so_ good for my apprenticeship. Don’t you think?”

“No.” 

Her brow crinkled with disappointment. “Really?” 

Katria put her finger against her chin. “Well…” She dropped her hand. “Still no.” 

Bailey pouted, her lips pursed. “Your sense of humor is stupid.” 

“I believe the word you meant was _transcendent_ ,” she replied, as she took a sip of her tea. She crinkled her nose when the bitter taste hit her tongue. Not enough sugar. 

“But…” Bailey fiddled with her fingers. “Please?” 

Katria laughed, a dry, throaty sound because she’d just woken up. “But please? That’s your counter-argument?”

Bailey resorted to begging with hands clasped together. “Come on, Katria, please. I really, really want to go! I promise I won’t talk to you about Cullen ever again!” 

She snorted. “Like I believe that.” 

“…please?” 

Katria let out a long breath through her nose as she scrutinized Bailey’s expression of desperation. The girl _was_ quite proficient with her daggers, and she’d have to learn eventually about what Inquisition scouts and spies did. And if this was the safest place to do it, then she supposed she could cave.

Katria folded her hands together. “I will allow you to accompany Miller if you _swear_ to be careful. Very careful. Just ridiculously careful. Okay?” 

Bailey positively beamed, sliding the extra sweet roll in her direction. “Thank you!” She looked over at Katria’s bed, where her fox was curled up in the sheets, its long ears folded down as it napped. 

“I think I’ll bring my fox,” she said. “He’ll _blend_. You know, in nature.” 

“Foxes tend to do that,” Katria replied. Just as she dropped another cube of sugar into her tea, the door flew open again, which made her straighten because it was rare for someone to enter her room unannounced. 

“Why does this country smell like wet dog just _everywhere_?” 

Dorian stepped into the room, holding his staff. He crinkled his nose when he spotted Pickles rolling around on the floor with his paws in the air. “Ah, that’s why.” 

Katria leaned back against her chair with a smirk. Dorian had been in Tevinter for the past eight months, but the two of them still remained the type to avoid expressing emotion, even though she was very glad to see him. 

“Why am I not surprised you’re here?” 

Dorian dropped his bag on the floor and walked to the fireplace. He shooed Bailey out of her chair—she acquiesced, but stuck her tongue out at him first—and sat down. “You should not be surprised that I’ve arrived to see my dearest friend and boss.” 

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with you wanting to see your lover, would it?” 

Dorian began picking at the extra sweet roll. “Oh, I thought that’s why _you_ were here in South Reach.” 

Bailey snickered, and Katria spun around and pointed at her. 

“Isn’t there some training you should be doing, I don’t know, somewhere _else_?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “I always have to leave just when the conversation gets interesting,” she muttered, as she clomped for the door, fox and Mabari hurrying behind her. 

“Our conversation is not going to be interesting!” Katria called after her, then threw a glare at Dorian. “Before you even ask, I have nothing to say.” 

“Why not?” he began. “Did this shitty Ferelden town suck all the fun out of you?” 

“Oh, okay,” Katria said, raising her hand. “First of all, South Reach is not shitty. The people are nice. The landscape is very quaint.” 

“And Cullen is here.” 

She huffed. “What part of 'I have nothing to say' don’t you understand?” 

“The part where you _obviously_ have something to say because it’s Cullen,” he replied. 

Katria rested her fist against her temple. “Did you come all the way down from Tevinter to talk to me about this?” 

“No,” he said, crossing his legs. “Maybe. I mean, it was certainly a factor when I heard last month about your trip here, but I have other…interests in your traveling party. And I’ll be returning to Skyhold to debrief your advisors about my work, of course.” 

She twined her fingers together smugly in her lap. “Don’t tell me that you actually _missed_ your Qunari boyfriend and wanted to see him?” 

Katria thoroughly enjoyed the fact that Dorian was involved with Bull because it gave her the opportunity to mercilessly tease him. Just like he had been teasing her since literally the very moment they met. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Besides, while I _never_ tire of talking about myself, I am much more interested in hearing about what you’ve been doing this past week. With Cullen. Specifically.” 

Katria slid down further into her chair and rested her foot on the table in front of her. “Maker’s balls, Dorian, if you really must know, I saw Cullen twice. He called me Inquisitor the entire time, and otherwise, wanted nothing to do with me. Since then, I’ve been stuck hunting and having tea and eating dinner with Arl Bryland and his youngest son.” 

“How was that?” he asked. 

Katria sighed. “Well to give you an example, the boy, who just turned _twenty_ , grabbed my _arse_ while he was helping me off my horse one day because his older, equally-idiotic brothers _bet_ him that he wouldn’t.” 

Dorian smiled slightly. “Speaking of bets…” 

“Oh, for Andraste’s sake, _yes_ , I heard about your stupid bet with Bull, and _yes_ , you’re still winning because I haven’t had sex with Cullen.” She jumped up from her chair and snatched her cloak from off the bed. “Nor will I be doing that in the future. Ever!” 

Dorian shook his head. “You really do have such a flair for the dramatic, my dear.” He furrowed his brow when he saw her sling her bag over her shoulder. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m late for…” Katria stopped and clenched her jaw because she was late for a meeting with Cullen, but admitting that would invite a whole new slew of quips.

Dorian, of course, knew her too well. “You’re going to see him, aren’t you?” 

Katria jumped once or twice on one foot as she struggled to put on a boot. “Yes, alright? I am. He has intelligence on the Keepers, and we’re simply going to talk about strategy.” 

“Talk about your strategy for optimal sex positions or…” 

Katria’s foot hit the wooden floor with a _thwack_ , and she glared at him. “Not your best quip, Vint.”

He shrugged and gave a charming smile. “Oh, but even my worst is so much better than everyone else’s best.” 

She straightened, her hands on her hips. “Do you value your life? Because I will not hesitate to—I don’t know, stab you.”

Dorian leaned back with a smirk. “I value my life above all else.” He paused. “Except my hair, maybe. My good looks and charm…” 

Katria reached for the door and pushed it open. “Bye, Dorian.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Have fun _strategizing_.” 

She walked out into the hallway. “Oh, fuck you.” 

“Well, actually-,” 

Katria spun around and stuck her head back into the room. “I _know_ what joke you’re going to make.” She pointed at him. “Don’t. Don’t you do it.” 

Dorian raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I don’t know what you could possibly mean, Inquisitor.” 

She shook her finger at him for good measure, then turned back around to descend the narrow steps to the ground floor of the tavern. She heard Dorian scrambling in her room to get to the door. 

“Fuck me? Don’t you want to fuck Cullen?” 

Katria made a very loud, frustrated noise and stormed the rest of the way down the stairs while Dorian laughed.

===

Katria arrived at the farm with two of her guards—she didn’t necessarily want to bring them along, but if Cullen wanted to pretend that her sole identity was the Inquisitor then she might as well play the part. 

She dismounted her horse and approached the door, her guards trailing behind her. Cullen appeared, giving a polite nod. He was wearing a rough-spun tunic with the sleeves pushed up, which Katria thought should not be allowed for a handsome man like him. She returned his greeting, then turned to her men. 

“Baker, Norris, you two can wait outside if that’s alright. I won’t be long. You can sit if you’d like.” 

“You should be standing at attention while protecting the Inquisitor,” Cullen remarked. 

Katria turned to him. “How kind of you to take over Blackwall’s duties while he isn’t here.” She crossed the threshold into the house, stopping when she was facing him. “Though, sadly, I don’t think he’d give up the job if you asked him.” 

Cullen exhaled impatiently through his nose. “Yes, Inquisitor.” 

They walked into the kitchen, where a map was spread across the table, surrounded by reports and ink wells and books—Cullen’s office at Skyhold distilled and concentrated into a small space. Bran was standing at the other end of the room, peeking into a cabinet, the back of his blonde head disheveled. He turned as they entered the room. 

“Katria!” he began. “Fancy seeing you here!” 

Cullen sat down and frowned. “Bran, I told you to leave us alone. We have work to do.” 

Bran smirked. “I do apologize for my brother’s lack of fun.”

Katria leaned her fist against the table beside Cullen’s chair. “I still find it hard to believe you’re even related.” 

He sighed dramatically. “It’s a burden I have to bear.” 

Katria laughed, and she could see Cullen tense, so she sat down beside him to placate him. “Alright, alright, let’s get to work.” She fingered the frayed edge of the map. “How much have you been keeping up with Inquisition business?” 

“Not much, I’m afraid, Inquisitor.” 

Bran snorted loudly. “You call interrogating every Inquisition soldier that comes through town _not much_?”

Cullen spun around in the chair. “Go away,” he hissed to his brother, while Katria blushed and covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. 

Bran grinned and swept from the room, while Cullen rested his forehead against his palm. Katria dropped her hand from her mouth. Watching his fingers massage his temple, she wondered if he had a headache. 

“I didn’t get the chance to ask last week, but is your…health faring well?” 

He lifted his head. “Oh, yes. It is.” He shrugged. “I have some bad days, fewer than before, headaches too, but I can endure it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Amazing what a little less work and more sleep can do for one’s well-being.” 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of saying ‘I told you so’?” 

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m going to tell you that now.” She slid her elbows onto the table, her chin nestled in her hands, and leaned forward. “I told you so.” 

He pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a smile. “So did you come here to gloat or have a meeting with me?”

“Both?” 

“Could we move to the part where you brief me on Inquisition business?” he asked. 

“Of course,” Katria replied smugly. She ran her finger through the marks he’d made around the forest. “The Keepers are a well-funded group protesting the Divine’s reforms to the Circle. Many of them are hired mercenaries, a small number of Templars, and Vivienne’s conservative mages.” 

“Is Vivienne the person funding them?” he asked.

Katria rubbed the nape of her neck. “Yes, but Leliana has yet to find any concrete proof of her relationship to the rebels.” She sighed. “The Inquisition has…other enemies, and they’ll gladly give coin to people who want to undermine our reputation.” 

He folded his arms over his chest. “Not that many enemies, I would think.”

Katria gave a short laugh. “Ah, wistful thinking, Cullen.” She drummed her fingers against the table. “I’ve complicated things greatly in the past year.” 

“Have you?” 

She met his gaze—his face was inquisitive, open—he actually cared what she was going to say, even though he’d probably balk at what she’d done as Inquisitor. 

“The Keepers initially emerged as dissenters when Cass first became Divine,” Katria began. “Her reforms of the Circle and the Templar Order were formidable, and that angered a lot of conservatives. I—the Inquisition fully supported her efforts, of course. The Keepers started getting violent, and my men and the Seekers took them down.” Her brow crinkled. “We were able to keep Vivienne on our side by appointing her Grand Enchanter of the Circle.”

“What about Fiona?” 

“She and the other rebel mages that were once a part of the Inquisition rejected the Circle’s offer to rejoin them,” Katria said. “They decided to form their own group called the College of Enchanters.” 

Cullen frowned. “That’s not practical. Having two separate organizations for mages only encourages them to clash with one another.” 

“I know,” Katria said hastily, pushing back her hair. “And they did clash—there would have been a war between them, eventually. I’m sure of it.” 

“What happened instead?” 

Katria wiggled uncomfortably in the wooden chair. “Cullen, you know what happened. Why do I have to explain this?” 

He leaned forward. “I want to hear it from you. Second-hand stories from unreliable sources don’t give me the information I need. I’ve been on a farm in South Reach for the past two years. We fought the Keepers because they attacked our land—you’ll help me understand _why_ more clearly.”

Katria nodded. “Good point, I guess. Last year, I approached the College and the Circle and asked them to sit down with me,” she said, balling her fingers into a fist. “I wanted them to compromise. Create _one_ united, liberated organization for the mages. Fiona had a lot of demands, but they were—were reasonable. They made sense.” 

Katria sighed. “I know you probably wouldn’t agree, but I think mages should be free to marry, to have children and families. I think that children shouldn’t have to go to the Circle if they can prove that they are being adequately trained by a privately-hired mage, and that families should be able to visit their children and take them home for small amounts of time.”

She dug her fingernail into the wood grain of the table. “You’ve seen yourself how well mixed-military units can work, and I wanted to encourage that too. I think Tranquility should be an entirely voluntary process done to a willing mage only as an adult, and I think that it should only happen at the White Spire with the permission of the Knight-Commander and the Grand Enchanter.” 

“That’s quite a bit of…flexibility,” Cullen remarked. She couldn’t read his face, although she assumed the disapproval was there.

“There were other things, as well,” Katria said. “All ideas that Vivienne steadfastly refused to adopt. It was a stalemate.” She pursed her lips. “Until, of course, I used my leverage as Inquisitor. I…pressured Cassandra into fully supporting Fiona’s further reforms. Cass did. Because of that, Vivienne left the negotiations and resigned as Grand Enchanter, though Cassandra was going to remove her from her post anyway. She left with her conservative mages and revitalized the Keepers and their cause. Allegedly.” 

Cullen smiled slightly. “And I thought you hated politics.” 

She snorted. “Oh trust me, I _do_. More than anything,” she said. “But I’m trying to do what I think is right. I don’t think that’s so bad.” 

“It’s not, Inquisitor.” 

Katria glanced over at him. “You know, I’m certain you won’t spontaneously burst into flames if you call me Katria.” She shrugged. “Fairly certain.”

Cullen’s eyes went a little wide, and he looked away, down at the map, his jaw clenched. She’d said the wrong thing again, stuck out her hand and he was going to shoot her down. She couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt. 

“Titles convey respect,” he said carefully. “I respect you, so I call you Inquisitor.”

Katria rested her chin in her hand. “It was silly of me to suggest.” 

“No, I—it’s…” Cullen rubbed his neck, obviously struggling, before he cleared his throat. “I know Fiona became the Grand Enchanter once Vivienne left. I also know about…” 

She knew what he was referring to and nodded. “Yes, it’s true. The College agreed to join with the Circle, finally, and Fiona is Grand Enchanter again. In order for the Inquisition to truly demonstrate our support for these newer reforms, I consented to the creation of a Circle in Skyhold.” 

“How is that going?” he asked. 

“Fine, as I expected,” Katria replied. “Despite what’s happened, the Inquisition still has a good reputation, a lot of resources and coin. Many mages clamored for the opportunity to study and train in Skyhold. There were already Templars in our ranks, thanks to you, and I do my absolute best to encourage communication between them. It’s _other_ Circles where everyone is not so well-behaved. The Keepers certainly don’t help matters.” She patted the map. “Although, do you think you’ve taken care of that?” 

Cullen gave a slight shake of his head, which made her deflate a little. “The arl’s men certainly made a dent in their numbers, but they pulled back earlier than I expected.” 

“Why would they do that?” she asked. 

Cullen gestured to a part of the map by the Drakon River that was north of them and surrounded by forest and the tail-end of the Southron Hills. “It is my rough estimate that a few weeks ago they retreated to this woody area to regroup.”

“Are they still there?” 

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. We haven’t seen any sign of them, but they could just be well-hidden. It’s possible they stayed once they heard about your visit.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “You think they’ll attack me directly?” 

He shook his head. “No. Everyone knows how well-protected you are. With their numbers, it would be pretty foolish. But your presence brings more people to the area, scouts, spies, they could be waiting for some sort of opportunity. The mercenary bands they hired would have left by now since their coin is running low and the fighting’s stopped.”

Katria was rifling through the reports on the table. “This is good intelligence. I’ll bring it to my people. I’ve got some scouts here with me who can search the area more thoroughly.” 

“How are…your people?” he asked. 

“Advisors, you mean?” she said. “Leliana is great—she’s been the most supportive of my reforms and isn’t half as scary as she used to be. Josie is swamped. Between being my Ambassador and managing her family affairs and keeping her mother from bugging her about that Lord Otranto she’s betrothed to, she’s got a lot to do. Oh, and Rylen’s married.”

“Married?” Cullen began incredulously. 

“I know, right?” she said, laughing. “Last year. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, you know, because it’s Rylen. But she’s a nice lady. Member of the Guard in Starkhaven. Wields a maul better than any man I’ve ever seen. It’s terrifying. Maybe a little.” 

“She doesn’t live in Skyhold?” 

Katria shook her head. “No. Not yet. He’s trying to persuade her. They met when Sebastian Vael visited Skyhold. She stayed behind for almost year, but just recently returned to Starkhaven.” 

Katria assumed Cullen was going to ask more because he’d always liked Rylen, when the front door swung open. Rosalie appeared, toting a basket full of fabric. Her face brightened. 

“Oh—Oh, _hi_!”

She put her load down and hurried into the kitchen, then put her hands on her hips. “Cullen! Why didn’t you ask the Inquisitor if she’d like some refreshments?”

“Because we’re just talking about business?” he said. “And not at some ridiculous noble interlude in a castle?” 

Rosalie huffed. “I will make tea.” 

Katria started to speak, but gave up and shut her mouth—she had very quickly learned that when Cullen’s sister put her mind to something, nothing could deter her. 

Branson stuck his head into the room, and before Cullen could protest, had sat down in a chair beside her. “You absolutely must finish that story from last week about that dragon in the Hinterlands.” 

“I’m sure the Inquisitor has a very busy day ahead,” Cullen interjected. “She likely does not have time to sit around and spin stories for you.” Rosalie plopped down a small bowl of sugar, and he slid it across the table to her. He seemed to remember how sweet she liked her tea. 

“I can spare a little time,” Katria replied with a smile. “Although I will admit it’s not the most interesting story. It was a Ferelden Frostback, and I saw it the very first time I was in the Hinterlands as the Herald.” 

Rosalie placed a cup in front of her, and Bran leaned forward. 

“You fought it then, right?” 

Katria gave a short laugh. “Oh no. There was…a lot going on at the time. The dragon was in a fairly secluded valley, so we spotted it and-,” She chuckled. “Ran away screaming, honestly.” 

Bran snorted. “I’d probably do that if I saw a dragon.” 

“We left it alone for almost a year,” she said. “But then it started moving out of the valley as its babies got bigger, closer to Redcliffe. So it had to be taken care of.” 

Rosalie sat down with her own cup, beaming. “What _I_ want to know is how your trip to Arl Bryland’s went.” 

Katria shrugged. “Not terribly, I suppose.” 

“Did you see Peter Bryland?” she asked. “He’s the Arl’s youngest. Quite handsome!” 

Katria heard the creak of Cullen’s chair as he shifted, pretending, perhaps, to be absorbed in reading a report on the table. 

“I did see him,” she replied. “Spent quite a bit of time with him, too.” 

“Was—was he _courting_ you?” Rosalie demanded excitedly, and even Bran rolled his eyes. 

Katria lifted her cup up to her lips, taking the opportunity to glance sideways at Cullen. He was looking down, but she could tell by the tilt of his body that he was listening. 

“Very much so,” Katria replied. “In fact, he offered me a contract for marriage.” She paused. “I said yes.” 

Cullen spat out his tea. Or rather, made a sort of choking noise as some dribbled inelegantly down his chin. He hurriedly placed his cup on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Katria was staring at him, a little astonished, blushing up to her ears, because she hadn’t expected _that_ reaction from him. A little clench of the fist, a crinkle of his brow, maybe, but not the sputtering she’d just seen. 

Rosalie gasped. “ _Really_?” 

“No!” Katria blurted out, unable to keep the grin off her face. She gave a small giggle. “Um, no. I turned him down. I just…” 

Cullen abruptly stood, his chair screeching back. He was clutching parchment so tightly in his hand his knuckles were white. “I, ah—there’s something in this report I overlooked. It’s urgent.” He looked over at her. “That’s why I, um-,” 

“Spat up tea like an infant?” Bran suggested with an arched brow. 

“Sure, that,” Cullen replied hurriedly. “You must excuse me. Please let me know if there’s anything else you need, Inquisitor.” He disappeared from the kitchen, up the creaking stairs, and into what she assumed was his room. 

Katria was still blushing. She bit her lip. “I…shouldn’t have done that,” she murmured. “He hates being teased.” 

“He does, which makes it _awesome_ ,” Bran replied.

“I didn’t expect him to react so strongly,” she insisted, as she stood. 

“Really?” Rosalie asked, looking surprised. 

“Well—Well, it’s just…I mean, I thought…” Oh, Maker, she couldn’t talk about this with Cullen’s _family_. Yes, they were very nice people, and they got along well, but Cullen was still their brother, and she had no right to even begin a conversation like this. 

“I’m sorry,” she said plaintively. “I should go, shouldn’t I? Probably. Definitely. Thank you for the tea, Rosalie.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a smile, which made Katria feel a little better. 

“Come back any time,” Bran remarked, as she turned to leave. “ _All_ of us will just be so happy to see you again.” 

Katria flushed further and made her escape to the porch. She wanted to smack her head repeatedly against a hard surface. Why had she been so idiotic? She’d embarrassed poor Cullen, who’d done nothing but…hold her at arm’s length since they saw each other. Which were apparently all actions that hid perhaps deeper feelings he had for her? 

She shook her head. If she were really curious about his feelings, she should have _asked_ him directly like an adult, rather than impulsively pushing his buttons to see if he’d respond. Despite the coldness he’d displayed towards her, she felt a little guilty. 

Although, any discussion Katria had with him about his feelings would be increasingly difficult if he kept insisting on calling her _Inquisitor_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep trying to make these chapters short, but apparently I just can't quit! I considered cutting out Dorian and Katria teasing and giving each other shit about everything, but I figured since Cullen's siblings get to be in the story, Katria's pseudo-family should be too.


	6. Chapter 6

Cullen still had nightmares. Not every time he slept, but sometimes, without warning, they’d sweep into his mind, paralyzing him with terror and making him bolt up from his bed with a shout. When he had first arrived in South Reach, his situation was worse. He tried to move out of Mia’s house, not wanting to bother her or her young children with his troubles, but she insisted he stay put. She said Cullen was kidding himself if he thought he was the only person who had nightmares in their house—her comment forced Cullen to confront the fact that his siblings had faced the terrors of the Blight and their parents’ grisly deaths first-hand, fled from their home in Honnleath carrying almost nothing. Those were likely not comforting memories, for any of them. Cullen appreciated Mia’s support, and had tried his best to reciprocate it. 

Nightmare or no, every morning Cullen woke the earliest out of anyone in the house. Normally, it was still dark outside, the house and surrounding farmland almost eerily quiet. He would get out of bed and head downstairs, sometimes stepping on wooden toys or errant chess pieces left around by Mia’s kids. 

In the kitchen, he’d work. That morning, just two days after he’d met with Katria and utterly embarrassed himself in front of her, he’d slept in a little later. The windows that looked out on the porch let the faintest hint of orange light into the room as the sun began to rise past the trees. 

Cullen sat down at the table. A copy of Varric’s book was lying face-up before him, left out by Ros, and he had to resist the urge to knock it away. A picture of Katria was on the front, of course. She stood valiantly on a rocky surface with the Breach looming above her head, wind conveniently pushing back her dark hair to emphasize her grave expression. 

It really looked nothing like her, other than the hair color and scar on her cheek. The woman’s eyes were too blue, lips too plump, and while Katria had a nice figure—he had noticed in passing only, of course—her likeness on the book-cover was entirely too…endowed. 

The woman’s skin was so pale and pristine she almost glowed. It was like she’d been poured from marble and sat untouched since then. Katria had lived and worked in Ferelden for a decade, and then spent more than a year traveling in the harshest climates in Thedas fighting untold horrors, so her complexion was ruddy across her cheeks and brow. 

“Morning, Cullen.” 

The voice startled him, and Cullen straightened, flipping the book clumsily over as Mia padded into the kitchen. His sister always woke up just as early as he did. 

“Ah, um, morning, Mia.” 

She pulled out her kettle to begin making tea, her back to him. “I have been very quiet about all this business with the Inquisitor, you know,” she said. “But I’m not sure I can avoid a conversation now that I’ve found you in the wee hours of the morning, staring longingly at a picture of her like some…sad puppy.” 

“I’m not—this doesn’t even count as her,” he sputtered. “And I wasn’t staring. Longingly or anything!” 

Mia turned around, raising an eyebrow. She leaned back against the counter with her arms crossed. “Listen, Cullen, I get it. Even if you were willing to admit that you still have some remaining vestige of romantic feeling for her-,”

“Which I _don’t_.”

She looked at him pointedly. “You have wound yourself up this past week because of some innocent ribbing from your siblings over a woman who is leaving in a few days, whom you likely won’t see ever again.” 

Cullen tapped his fingers against the table. “I—yes, I know.” 

“You are a normal, well-adjusted adult. Try being nice to her,” Mia said. “I assume you were friends once.” She walked her kettle over to the fire. “And if I know you, which I do, you probably owe her an apology.” 

“I do not owe…” He sighed and ran his hand along his temple because his sister was right. As always. He understood his off-putting professionalism wasn’t fair to Katria, but it seemed…so dangerous to try anything else. Not when he could get attached again. “I am not good with apologies.” 

“Why is that?” she asked. “Your mouth can’t make the sounds necessary for ‘I’m sorry’?” 

“I know to say _that_. I just…”

Cullen stopped when he heard the thumping of horses’ hooves from outside. Eager for a distraction, he stood to see who was approaching. One of his men was likely arriving to give him a report about their weekly scouting trips. 

He walked out onto the porch, the cold morning air hitting his bare face and arms, and saw two horses approaching. They dismounted and approached him, one figure disproportionately shorter than the other. 

“Ser,” one of his men, a young lad named Winthrop, began.

Cullen looked down to see Scout Harding waving at him, her red hair pulled back from her face. She was barely visible in the dusky light around them. 

“Commander! It’s nice to see you!” she exclaimed, then paused. “Or not Commander. Sorry.” 

“It’s good to see you, as well, Harding. What are you doing here?” he asked.

Harding gestured back to Winthrop. “Ran into your scout a few miles back, and I figured I’d stop by before I head into town when he mentioned you,” she explained. “Can’t stay for long though. I need to get to the Inquisitor right away.” 

Cullen shifted. “Is something wrong?” 

Harding shrugged. “Well—I’m not sure. I was supposed to meet up with Miller yesterday evening after a mission. We were going to camp out, then head back this morning, but she never showed. I searched for a good portion of the night, but found no sign of her.” 

“I did not encounter anyone in the forest yesterday, either,” Winthrop interjected. “I found two sets of tracks further north, but that’s all.” 

Harding cleared her throat. “We brought some trainees with us to this area. The topography’s good for practicing stealth movements, and South Reach has been pretty quiet. Miller took someone with her, I think.” 

He folded his arms across his chest. “That’s why you’re worried.”

Harding grimaced. “I wasn’t around when Miller left yesterday, but I’m afraid she took Duck with her.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. A codename, obviously, like Miller, but an unusual one. 

“Who is…” He stopped and clenched his jaw, the answer to his question shooting through him and clenching his gut. The only _duck_ he knew was Bailey, who wanted nothing more than to be more like Katria, and would probably clamor at the chance to go out into the field. “Oh—Maker’s breath, Harding. When the Inquisitor finds out that Bailey is…”

“I know,” Harding replied earnestly. “But…I’m sure they’re fine.” 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “That won’t stop her from running into the forest like a madwoman when she hears,” he said. “There’s no point in all three of us going into town. Harding, head out with Winthrop into the forest where he saw those tracks. I will see if I can get the Inquisitor to stay put until you arrive back, but I doubt I’ll succeed.” He dropped his hand. “If they’ve been captured, don’t engage— you can’t risk that they’ll kill both of them, and the groups in this area travel in large enough numbers that the two of you would be very vulnerable. Come back, and the unit the Inquisitor brought along with her can be dispatched to rescue them.”

Harding nodded curtly. “Yes…” Her brow creased. “Ser?” 

“Let’s not worry about titles,” Cullen said, although it occurred to him that he had absolutely zero authority to be telling Harding what to do. “I will head into town. Find them. Quickly.” 

Winthrop and Harding both saluted to him and hurried to their horses. Cullen marched back into the house, briefly answered only a few of Mia’s myriad of questions, then went to his room. He donned the lighter armor he typically wore now to training and strapped his sword onto his belt. He hoped he would not _need_ either of these things, but he had very little confidence he would be able to convince Katria to stay in town, so he might as well be prepared to follow her. 

Cullen rode as quickly as he could after seeing Harding and Winthrop off, cursing silently in his head because Katria was going to completely lose it when she heard about Bailey. She apparently had few friends before the events at the Conclave. Because of that, the ones she made during the Inquisition were more precious than gold to her. She’d thrown herself in front of dragons and demons for the people she cared for, foregone alliances—Katria was nothing if not loyal and would likely never forgive herself if something happened to them. 

It was just past dawn when Cullen arrived at the tavern, the sun casting golden light across the mostly empty road. There were Inquisition soldiers milling about, tending to horses and other supplies. He walked into the deserted tavern, but was stopped by two guards as he tried to walk up the stairs to where he assumed Katria was staying. 

They were young, and soldiers he didn’t recognize, who had hardened looks on their faces. 

“We can’t allow you up here.” 

“I need to speak to the Inquisitor,” Cullen said impatiently. 

They exchanged looks. “She is not expecting any visitors at this hour.” 

He clenched his fists. “My name is Cullen Rutherford, and I was previously the Commander of the _entirety_ of the Inquisition’s forces, so unless you would like me to _personally_ ask the Inquisitor to remove you two from your posts and have you bodily punished for your insubordination, I suggest you move.” 

Their grips on their weapons loosened, and Cullen watched with a little bit of satisfaction as their stern expressions melted away. “We—um…” 

Cullen shoved past them, and they didn’t follow. He climbed the creaking stairs that led to a long hallway. He knew the nicest accommodations in the tavern were behind the first door, so he pushed it open. 

The room was filled with light from a window behind the bed. As soon as he stepped inside, a figure bolted up from under the covers. Katria stared at him, disoriented and bleary. 

She rubbed her eyes. “Cullen?” she said. “Maker’s balls, I don’t even want to think about how much coin Dorian and Bailey gave you to do this, but-,” 

He closed the door behind him. “Inquisitor, it’s urgent.” 

Katria soothed her disheveled hair back from her temple. “Yes, I can see that.” 

Cullen stepped a little closer, watching as she pushed aside the covers and slid off the bed. She was wearing a long, worn tunic that hit just above her knees, and Cullen tried not to notice the expanse of skin visible as the shirt drooped off her shoulder. 

Before he replied, Katria straightened abruptly and ran to the window. “Wait, what time is it?” she demanded. “I—Bailey promised to wake me this morning as soon as…” 

He sighed. “I ran into Harding. She said that she was supposed to meet Miller last night, then ride here in the morning,” he said. 

“I know that,” she snapped, turning back to him. “So _where are they_?”

He looked down at the wood planks below his feet. “Miller and Bailey never showed.” 

There was a beat of tense silence before Katria’s brows arched inwards. “What?” she spat out. “No! That isn’t— _fuck_.” She inhaled a long breath, then collapsed against the side of her bed, with her head in her hands, a slew of curses leaving her mouth. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen began, but he stopped once she jumped up. Her face was calm, though he could still see a burning intensity in her eyes. All at once the Inquisitor, and not a guilt-wracked, panicked woman. 

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find them.” 

He stepped forward, holding up his hand, standing between her and her armor stand. Which, considering Katria’s skills, was not a safe place. 

“You can’t go running off into the forest looking for them,” he said. “It’s reckless.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” 

“You don’t even know where to begin searching,” he insisted. 

“I do!” Katria shot back. “You told me yourself where you think the Keepers are gathered.” 

“You don’t know they’ve been abducted,” Cullen said. “They could have been attacked by a bear, or gotten lost or-,” 

“I don’t need your speculation right now,” she cut in. “I do not know for sure if they were captured by the Keepers, or some other bandits, but _if_ they were, I need to do something now. So I will.” 

Katria stepped sideways to move around him, but he quickly matched her, hand still raised. “You are the Inquisitor, you cannot venture out alone.” 

“I’ll take Dorian,” she replied. “And Blackwall.” 

“ _Someone_ has to stay here if Harding comes back,” he said. “Or if Bailey and Miller return because they were simply lost!” 

Katria clenched her fists. “They are not lost! Miller does not get _lost_.”

“You need to calm down,” Cullen said.

That seemed to do the opposite of make her calm. She angrily pursed her lips. “Cullen, you’re wearing your armor because you _knew_ you were going to lose this fight. Move, _now_.”

“I wore my armor _in case_ I couldn’t convince you,” he said. “I’m not going to stop trying.” 

“Why?” she demanded. “Why in the Void do you care about what I do?” 

The question unhinged him enough that when Katria darted left he didn’t stop her. He regained his bearings in time to cough and turn around when she wiggled into her trousers and a different tunic. 

“It’s—I am not, I mean, you’re the _Inquisitor_.” 

She strapped her belt around her waist. “Oh, yes, that _precisely_ answers my question, thank you.” 

Cullen frowned. “I don’t see the point of explaining why I don’t want you to die.” 

Katria finally turned to him, sliding on her remaining glove. “Die?” she began incredulously. “Who said anything about dying?” 

He watched her as she crossed the room to her boots. “You are not invincible. If you act so recklessly, you could get hurt by-,” 

She locked gazes with him, scowling. “By some silly bandits whose skills are vastly inferior to mine?” 

Cullen grunted—he should have expected Katria to be glib about everything including fighting an entire group of mercenaries. “That sort of arrogance is what gets people killed!”

Katria slid both her longer daggers onto her back. “If you’re that worried, you can come with me, like I suspect you want to, but I’m _not_ staying here.”

“See reason, Inquisitor,” he said, as he crossed the room to stand in front of her again. “It would be safer, more prudent, _smarter_ for you to stay here.” 

She clenched her jaw. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you got to be the Commander of the Inquisition even when you’re not wearing your stupid fur coat!” 

“Oh, come on,” he said. “How can you joke at a time like this?” 

“I’m not joking!” she snapped. “I really think your coat was stupid!” 

Cullen clenched his fists, more determined than ever not to move and allow this stubborn woman to do what she wanted. “You are-,” 

The door was flung open behind him, and he spun around. Dorian appeared, freezing with a look of surprise for a moment before grinning smugly. 

“Oh, Cullen,” he said. “Nice to see you. I heard shouting and came to investigate. But I’ll go, since this is obviously the pre-cursor to sex sort of argument…” 

Katria moved Cullen out of her view of Dorian. “Bailey and Miller haven’t arrived back from their scouting trip.” 

Dorian scrutinized her fully-armored frame. “And you’re going after them?” 

Katria nodded. “Yes. You’re coming, too.” 

“No,” Cullen interjected. “No—she’s staying here to wait for the scouts that have _already_ been sent.” 

“I am going,” she said through gritted teeth. She twisted on her heel to point at Cullen. “If you try and stop me, I’ll—I’ll severely injure you!” She huffed. “ _But_ because I’m a nice person I’d injure the least handsome part of your body.”

“I know you aren’t serious,” Cullen shot back. 

“You two are adorable,” Dorian said from the door. “I sort of hate it.” 

“Knock it off, Dorian!” Cullen snapped, while Katria just laughed harshly. She walked past him to the hallway, not hesitating as she jogged down the stairs. 

Cullen made a frustrated noise. “Kat-,” He stopped himself, ignored Dorian’s knowing smirk, and followed her. 

“I can’t believe you’re going to do this,” he muttered at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Really? You can’t?” she said, still moving towards the door. “I mean, I know it’s been two years, but I haven’t changed that much.” 

“Or at all,” he replied. “You’re still the most _insufferable_ woman in Thedas.” It occurred to him that his discussion with Mia that morning was meant to encourage him to avoid these kinds of conversations with Katria, but he quickly discarded the notion because her stubbornness and impracticality blindsided him and was so _incorrigibly_ grating.

Katria spun around, frowning. “And you’re still _not_ the Commander of the Inquisition, so stop trying to tell me what to do.” 

“You didn’t listen to me when I had the job anyway!” 

Dorian appeared behind them holding his staff. Katria pointed at him with a warning look when the mage opened his mouth. “You, don’t say _it_.” She then turned to Cullen. “And you, don’t say _anything_. We’re going to the stables, getting horses, briefing Blackwall, and heading out. Let’s go.”

Katria twisted violently on her heel and exited the tavern, storming down the road, sending up a cloud of dust around her feet. Cullen scowled and reluctantly followed her, though he was glad he had the foresight to put on his armor. He’d need it against whomever they encountered in the forest. Or Katria. He couldn’t decide which.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optimal length, I hope! Some action and adventure next because why not. Thank ya'll for your awesome support so far, it warms my heart and keeps me going!


	7. Chapter 7

Katria’s mood did not improve much as they rode north. She was uncharacteristically quiet and tense, her fingers wringing her reins as she held them in her hands. She bantered with Dorian during the few moments he spoke, but would always slide her eyes over and glare at Cullen. He had resigned himself to their plan after that first hour and didn’t return her angry stare. Cullen understood she was scared—terrified, probably—that harm would come to Bailey, whom she always took such responsibility for.

They eventually dismounted their horses once the foliage was too thick to accommodate them, walking for almost half an hour towards the river. Dorian stopped and looked around at the mass of trees surrounding them with his arms crossed. 

“As nostalgic as I feel traversing the forest in Ferelden, you do actually have some sort of idea where to look, don’t you, my dear?” 

She started walking as she spoke, her feet making no noise as she crept forward, while Cullen and Dorian quite possibly cracked every twig on the path. “Well, let’s assume that Cullen is right and the Keepers or their hired mercenaries have been living in this area for weeks. No scouts have seen any sign of them, so they clearly don’t have any supply lines coming into their camp.” 

Dorian inspected his sleeve and flicked off some dirt that had settled there. “Which means…?”

“It means that even _if_ they had a shit ton of supplies with them when they settled, they are likely also living off the land in order to survive. Fishing, hunting. They’d need water, too.” 

Katria stopped and pointed ahead of them and a little to the east. “They probably camped somewhere near the Drakon River, camouflaged in the Southron Hills, near places where they can get water and fish or other game.” 

“That’s still a lot of land to search,” Dorian said. “I’m not sure how much that helps.” 

“Drakon is a fast moving river,” Katria replied, waving them along. “If they’re fishing, they’re likely doing it near a bend or around big boulder pockets. Find those, and we can do cursory searches of the area. We don’t even have to find their camp—just someone scouting or hunting from their camp even.” 

“That’s…fairly sound logic, Inquisitor,” Cullen remarked. 

Dorian looked over at him. “Is this you trying to woo your lady back? Because I would recommend other compliments if-,”

“I am not his—or anyone’s—lady,” Katria interjected, ducking under a low-hanging branch. “Also, I do not get wooed by compliments. You do, Dorian.” 

He nodded. “I do enjoy hearing about how amazing I am.” He waved his hand dismissively. “My point was, Cullen, that your compliments should be more powerful, _direct_. Our Inquisitor has healthy hair, a noble brow-,” 

“Dorian,” Cullen growled, his foot crashing down on a branch and snapping it especially hard. 

Dorian grinned. “Oh dear, he thinks I’m being annoying.” 

Katria stopped, her hands on her hips, surveying the dim shadows around them, the sunlight blocked by the trees. “My question is, when are you ever _not_ annoying?”

“Oh, very funny.” 

“Thank you,” Katria said brightly, as she knelt down. Her hand brushed aside some dead leaves scattered across the damp forest floor. She lifted her head and looked in the direction of the babbling river that was somewhere near them. 

“You two stay put for the moment,” she whispered. “And be quiet.” 

“Why?” Cullen asked back, matching her tone. 

“Because both of you sound like angry giants clopping through the forest when you walk,” she replied. “You’ll give away my position if you follow me.” 

Cullen knew she was right—he was wearing plate armor, after all. He still clenched the pommel of his sword as a twinge of frustration shot through him watching her creep away, alone, completely unprotected. 

The two of them stood in silence; a miracle considering he was with Dorian. Cullen strained his ears to hear any sign of Katria, but only the rustle of leaves and the splash of the river were audible. 

Some time passed—thirty minutes, maybe forty—before a woman gave a strangled shriek that echoed through the forest. It sounded like Katria, but he couldn’t be sure. Cullen yanked out his sword and charged in the direction of the sound. Dorian hurried after him. 

He heard another angry shout as he got closer. They finally burst through a thicket of bushes and found Katria—pinning another woman down with a dagger. 

Katria lifted her head and smiled. “So glad you two could join me.”

Cullen walked closer, angling his sword down towards them. 

The woman was thrashing and wriggling underneath Katria, but Katria was taller, and sitting squarely on the woman’s stomach, her feet pinning her wrists to the ground. Her captive had a black eye and blood dribbling down from her lip. She was wearing light, leather armor and had an arsenal of daggers, so she was clearly a mercenary or soldier of some sort. 

“What do you want, _Inquisitor_?” the woman demanded angrily in an Orlesian accent. Her obvious disdain told Cullen she was likely not a soldier or even a very lost chevalier. 

“Recognize me, do you?” she asked in reply. “It’s the scar, I bet. Regardless, it’s nice to meet you, and I just want to ask you some questions.” 

“I have nothing to say to you,” she spat. 

Katria slid her dagger closer to the woman’s neck. “Yes, congratulations, we’re all very impressed by your bravery. But this is nothing to die over.” She leaned back, so she was sitting straight on top of the woman, her eyes inspecting her outfit. “Nice leathers. Daggers, ribsplitters,” she muttered to herself. “North Orlesian accent…” 

Katria turned back to her captive. “You’re a mercenary. From Orlais. Your services were requested from the Keepers.” She furrowed her brow and looked up at Cullen. “Wouldn’t they have left by now?” 

“They would stay if they haven’t received payment,” he replied, his heart hammering in his chest as Katria looked utterly serene with a person pinned under her.

“Good point,” she said, then looked down. “This sounding accurate to you, friend?” 

“What do you _want_?” she snarled, though her movements to escape were less violent, probably because she was getting tired. 

Katria bent down, her braid sliding off her shoulder and obscuring her face. “Has your group of mercenaries come across any Inquisition scouts?” 

Her eyes widened just a fraction before she scowled. “No.” 

Katria sighed, her shoulders slumping. “They always make it so difficult,” she muttered. She readjusted her feet, pushing the woman’s wrists into the soft dirt under them, her weight still firmly holding her down. 

“Let’s play a game where you answer my questions or I cut off your fingers one by one with a blunt knife,” Katria said as she leaned forward. “Sound fun?” 

“We haven’t seen any Inquisition scouts!” the woman exclaimed. 

“You’re lying,” Katria snapped. “So there’s that. Try again.” 

“I swear!” 

Katria shook her head, making a disgusted noise. “Orlesians. Sheesh.” She reached out with her free arm while also moving her foot, grabbing the woman’s wrist and pulling it up to her face. 

Katria studied her hand, keeping a firm grasp on it to stop the woman from flailing. “The muscles in this arm are much bigger than in your other one. How unusual. You must be left-handed.” She shrugged. “I’d love to get this interrogation over with, so let’s start with the thumb, shall we?” 

Cullen stiffened, realizing Katria was quite possibly not kidding _at all_ about cutting off this woman’s fingers. The mercenary was lying, from what he could tell, and this could be an effective way to extract information, though certainly not a merciful one. 

Katria slid her knife between the woman’s thumb and her index finger. She put the slightest amount of pressure, forcing a line of blood out across her pale palm.

The woman hissed, instinctively trying to yank back her hand. Katria stopped and looked down at her. 

“I am really _fucking_ serious about this.”

When the woman didn’t reply, Katria pushed the dagger down a little further, earning her a cry of anguish. 

“Ah— _alright_!” the woman shrieked, and Katria immediately stopped. “Alright!” 

Katria lowered her knife. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

The woman was panting, her chest heaving and constricted under Katria’s weight. 

“We…There were two Inquisition scouts. Discovered them too close to our camp for comfort. We didn’t kill them on-site. Wanted to…extract information.” 

An angry sneer made its way across Katria’s face. “Did you hurt them?” 

“Not too bad,” she replied. “Yet. We were going to ask some questions when…” She trailed off and clenched her jaw. 

Katria lifted her dagger. “Oh, suddenly not so attached to that thumb anymore, are we?” 

The woman gave a low growl. “Half our group, including our leader, is out further north trying to get our payment from those fucking Keepers. Promised they’d pay us, and they haven’t yet. That’s why we’re still here.” 

She smiled slightly. “So then, there aren’t many men at your camp guarding the scouts?” 

“There’s plenty,” she spat. 

Katria leaned back, securing the woman’s arm on the ground under her boot again. “Sure,” she said dismissively. “Now, one last question. Where’s your camp?” 

The woman twisted and turned with renewed vigor. “I can’t tell you that!” 

“You can,” Katria insisted. “And I suggest you do. This isn’t worth losing your livelihood over. I mean, you won’t be a very effective sell-sword without any fingers, now will you?” 

“I can’t,” she ground out. 

Katria rolled her eyes and reached for her arm again. “Maker’s balls, and we were making so much _progress_.”

The woman’s eyes widened as Katria cradled her blood smeared hand. She sighed through her teeth. “Okay—it’s…we’re further up the river about two miles, into the mountains. Found a cave.”

Katria looked up at Cullen. “Any chance you know where she’s talking about?” 

He adjusted his grip on his sword, thinking. He’d tried to make himself as familiar with the geography of this area as possible, seeing as it gave his men an advantage over enemies that weren’t from this area. 

“I think so.” 

Katria nodded once and then looked back down at her captive. “See?” she said. “How hard was that?” She shifted her weight slightly backwards. “I’m going to get off you, but I wouldn’t attack.” She pointed to Cullen. “He tolerates me on occasion, and he’d probably kill you if you tried.”

Katria jumped nimbly to her feet, and Cullen squeezed in, holding the tip of his sword near the woman’s throat. “Stand very slowly.” 

She obeyed him, holding her hands up. Cullen remained vigilant, but cleared his throat. 

“Ah, Inquisitor?” 

Katria studied the woman while stroking her chin. “I know. If we let her go, she’ll warn them.” She pulled her long dagger from her back, and Cullen tensed. She flipped it around in her hand and swung the pommel hard. 

It clobbered the woman right on the side of the head, and she staggered, then collapsed on the ground, unconscious. 

“How entirely _Ferelden_ of you,” Dorian remarked, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. 

“By that are you implying _barbaric_?” she asked. Before he replied, she motioned down to the unconscious mercenary. “My other option was killing her. All things considered, I’ve been pretty nice.” 

“You threatened to cut off her thumb.” 

Katria huffed. “I wasn’t actually _going_ to.” 

Dorian straightened and walked over to them, peering down. “Oh, really?” 

“I knew she’d give in,” Katria replied. 

“How did you know that?” Cullen asked, sliding his sword into his belt.

She gestured vaguely with her hands. “Oh, come on, she’s a _mercenary_. Sword-for-hire. She wasn’t going to risk losing her livelihood over some silly Inquisition scouts.” She returned her dagger to its place on her back. 

“Now if you two are done criticizing my methods, we need to get a move on.” 

Cullen followed her as she headed for the river. “I wasn’t—I mean, you did a…” Katria stopped and turned abruptly enough that he skidded to a stop entirely too close to her. He could see the sweat that had formed on her temple, the flush across her cheeks. 

“Um—you did an admirable job, considering the circumstances,” he said. “Quick, effective, strategic. Most people would have killed her.” 

“Thank you,” she replied, a little pucker between her brows and a small smile tugging at her lip. 

Dorian threw up his hands. “ _Now_ he compliments her.”

Katria broke from Cullen’s gaze, her cheeks redder than they’d been before. They trekked through the trees in the direction of the grassy hills and mountains that surrounded part of the river. 

As they hiked, and the sun crested high over them, Katria became more restless. She pulled her small dagger from her belt, spinning it in her hand, taking labored breaths in and out interrupted by heavy swallows. 

“She’ll be alright,” Cullen remarked from just behind her. 

Katria only turned her head slightly. “You don’t know that,” she said. “But thank you.” 

It was another hour before they reached a part of the river surrounded by rocky crags—where the gentle sloping hills of South Reach began transforming into sharper mountains that eventually led north to Dragon’s Peak and the Bannorn.

The forest thinned along the river bank, which this time of year was a long stretch of rock. Katria walked up to the water—deep and fast moving and careening into large boulders. She knelt down, studying some footprints sunk deep into the mud. 

“The cave’s that way,” Cullen said, pointing up towards a rocky crag that hung over the river. 

“Good. We might be in the right place,” she said, then led the way up the slope he had just pointed to. They hiked upwards in silence, the roar of the river getting quieter as they climbed. 

“So what is-,” 

Katria sharply lifted her hand, silencing Dorian. She tilted her head and listened for something, then jumped up, grabbing Dorian by his robe and Cullen by the neck of his breastplate and dragging them to the nearest cover of rocks. Cullen’s armor clanked loudly as he sat up to a crouch. 

“Would you be quiet?” Katria hissed. She was kneeling behind a large boulder and lifted herself slightly to peer over it. 

Dorian crawled over so he was beside her. “What is going on?” he asked. 

Cullen set himself against a rock as quietly as possible. “The cave’s not at least for another mile, Inquisitor.” 

“I know,” she whispered. “They _moved_.” 

Dorian peeked over their cover, then hunkered back down. “Why would they do that?” 

“Our friend from earlier obviously hasn’t returned to them,” Katria said. “They probably think she’s given away their hiding spot, they’ve got captives, and they might be tired of waiting for the rest of their team.” She looked back out. “They’re moving quickly. Let’s go.” 

Cullen’s hand shot out to stop her. “Wait— _wait_. What’s your plan?”

Katria met his eyes with an incredulous stare. “Uh, to kill them?” she said. “Quickly?” 

He sighed impatiently because of course she’d say that. “How many are there?” 

“Six.” 

His brow rose. “Maker’s breath, Inquisitor, we-,” 

“It will be alright,” she said firmly. “It has to be. And _fine_ here is my plan.” She turned to Dorian. “I’ll go in using my powders and take care of at least one of them. That’ll turn their attention to me, so you can cast a barrier around Miller and Bailey. They’re at the back. Cullen, just try and get them off me when you get there.” 

“But that’s-,” 

Katria disappeared in a cloud of smoke before he finished. Cullen finally got the chance to peer over the rock to watch the glimmer of Katria’s camouflaged form hurry across the cliff. Luckily, the group had stopped—they were arguing, but well-armed. Four warriors and two others with daggers. Bailey was recognizable because of her small frame. Miller was hunched over beside her, and two of the warriors flanked them. 

Like Cullen expected, Katria went after one of the men guarding Bailey. He abruptly straightened, making a choked noise as a stream of blood gushed from his throat. A flurry of shouts erupted from the group after that. Cullen had started moving the minute Katria’s knife touched the first man’s neck. The blue sheen of Dorian’s barrier settled over Bailey and Miller as he approached. 

“Both of you, run!” Katria ordered, sliding out of the way of a sword swung sideways at her. Miller was obviously injured, hunched over a hurt leg, her dark hair matted with blood, and Bailey threw an arm around her waist. They tried to move down the hill, but the remaining guard stopped them, rearing up his sword. 

The man was knocked sideways with a blast of energy from Dorian’s staff, and Cullen charged at him, burying his sword through the soft leather armor across his gut. Bailey staggered backwards with Miller, up towards the peak of the cliff. 

Katria was near them, and Cullen only took one step before watching a shield slam into her from behind and send her falling to the ground, pebbles skidding beneath her. She rolled out of the way as a sword was thrust downwards at her. 

Cullen sprinted over and lifted his shield, blocking the next hit with it as Katria scrambled to her feet. She picked up one dagger with her and buried it in the neck of the mercenary approaching them from behind. Cullen lowered his shield so his sword could block the next strike with a clang. 

The man holding the sword gave a strangled cry as Katria threw a small dagger that landed in his neck—another one of her skills. He stepped back and looked up the cliff. 

Two men remained, one splayed across the rocks, twitching, his clothes burning from a blast of lightning. The other loomed tall at the edge of the crag over Bailey. Miller’s unconscious frame had rolled further down the slope towards Dorian. 

Bailey had grabbed a dagger, and brandished it with enough skill that she parried the strike coming for her. Cullen _knew_ the minute he saw her push forward, all her meager weight on her toes that—

“ _No!_ ”

Katria had already been running, already saw what Cullen had. The man pushed Bailey, hard, and her eyes went wide before she stumbled back and straight over the cliff. 

A dagger landed in the mercenary’s shoulder, making him cry out in pain. Katria only shoved him roughly to the side and collapsed at the edge of the cliff. Cullen fell down beside her, his sword and shield clattering to the ground. 

Katria put her hand to her mouth and gave a strangled sob. Looking down, Cullen’s shoulders slumped with relief, the muscles in his stomach unclenching at the sight of Bailey, still alive, clinging to the single stone jutting out on the rock face. 

“Help please!” the girl called up to them. 

Katria lurched down, putting her weight forward, and Cullen grabbed her belt. 

“It’s too far,” he said. 

She made a frustrated nose. “We need rope—there has to be…” She called down to Bailey. “Hang on, duck! I’ve got you! I swear I’ve got you!” 

Dorian sprinted up to them, panting, but unharmed. 

“Help Miller,” Katria ordered, as she ran over to the bodies of the other men. They spread out, Dorian getting bandages because his mana was too low for healing, and Katria and Cullen searching the mercenaries’ supplies for rope. 

He heard Katria muttering desperately near him. “Oh, Maker, please let there be rope. Please. Fuck. Please let there be _fucking_ -,” She stopped and made a triumphant noise. “Shitty rope, but it should hold!” 

Katria ran back over to the cliff, and Cullen grabbed one end to loop it around a nearby rock. She dropped the other end down along the cliff face. 

“Grab the rope when it comes, duck!” 

“Katria, look out!” 

Cullen’s head snapped up from tying the knot, and he turned, just in time to see the mercenary with the dagger in his shoulder lunge at Katria. 

His first thought was— _she didn’t kill him?!_ , and his second was a desperate, heart-wrenching _no_. Katria had turned only halfway, her hands quick enough to slide another small dagger into the man’s the stomach. Though he was likely dead now, their backwards momentum remained the same. Katria heaved him to the side, but her foot still slid back and off the slippery rocks as she disappeared from his view. 

Cullen heard a sharp twang from the rope as it tightened around the boulder, the tension in it doubled. 

Dorian leapt up from his place beside Miller. “Fasta vass—do you _all_ have to jump off the cliff?”

Cullen sprinted over and looked down. Two sets of eyes stared back up at him. Bailey, closer to the top, clinging to the rope, and Katria much further down at the end of it, hanging by one hand, blood smeared across her face. 

“Are you alright?” he called down to her. 

She had smashed her face against the rock wall. “Fuck!” she snapped, her voice carrying up to him. “ _Fuck_ that hurt. And _fuck_ that guy—and Maker’s _fucking_ balls who even _does that_? Fuck!”

Katria clumsily reached up and clenched her other bloody hand around the rope, her body swaying. She took a deep breath. “Language. Sorry, Bailey.” 

“I am _thirteen_ years old!” Bailey exclaimed. “I can handle language!” 

“Alright, fine!” Katria growled. “Use your big girl arms and climb the _damn rope_.”

Bailey huffed and tentatively reached up, but her thin arms were shaking. The rope turned and swayed as she shimmied along its length. She made it only a few pulls before she stopped, her cheeks puffed out as she tried to catch her breath.

“Why can’t Cullen pull us?” she asked plaintively. 

Dorian snorted and looked down at Bailey. “Katria has had _entirely_ too many tiny cakes in her career as Inquisitor to make that possible, no matter how strong our handsome knight is.” 

“I heard that!” Katria exclaimed. “Fuck you, Dorian!” 

“I’m sorry,” Cullen called down to them. “If I had some sort of pulley, I could-,” 

“Come on, duck, you have to keep going! You can do it!” 

There was an edge of worry to Katria’s voice—one side of the collar of her cloak was soaked in blood from a cut across her neck, and her expression was tense.

Bailey reached out her hand again, her face bright red from exertion. She made a few more agonizingly slow advances, while Katria climbed up from the bottom. The rope tensed from both their movements, and then Cullen heard an unnerving creak. 

“Wait!” he blurted out. “I think it’s-,”

“Breaking!” Bailey shrieked, looking up a few inches above her where the rope was rubbing against a protruding rock. “It’s _breaking_!” 

Both of them quit moving, and he peered over the cliff. 

“We’re too heavy!” Bailey shouted, tears now spilling onto her cheeks. The rope frayed further into fractured pieces even as they stilled. “W-We…” 

Cullen leaned forward further—he noticed the rope move just slightly, saw Katria’s long arm pulling something from her belt. He scrambled forward, almost losing his balance and falling over. His hand shot instinctively out in a desperate, foolish attempt to grab Katria.

“Don’t panic,” she said, raising her dagger just above her own head and well beneath Bailey.

“Katria, _don’t_!” 

She cut the rope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised action, right? The Inquisitor still constantly getting in trouble. :P


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It probably goes without saying, but flashbacks are in italics.

Katria was gone within the blink of an eye—plummeting into the river below them, sending waves rippling around her, then disappearing under the current. Bailey pulled the remaining length of the rope towards her chest, making it fray further as she peered down at the water below her. 

“Katria!” she wailed. 

“Bailey!” Cullen shouted, leaning as far as he could over the edge, only one hand digging into the rocks to keep him steady. Katria had bought the girl time, but the rope was past being able to handle any weight for much longer. “Bailey, it’s still going to break!” 

She lifted her head up, her face a mask of despair, before raising one shaky hand to pull herself up further. She reached up twice more, just within Cullen’s reach, when the rope snapped. 

Bailey screamed, and Cullen lunged forward, catching her wrist within his fingertips. He made a strangled noise as he felt his weight tipping forward. A hand caught him at the bottom of his breast plate by his waist. 

“Oh, no, not you too!” 

Dorian had grabbed him just in time and wiggled back with a groan of exertion, so Cullen’s legs could find better purchase on the ledge. Bailey swung forward and grabbed his arm with her other hand. Though his muscles ached in protest, he heaved Bailey up and onto flat land. 

Bailey shoved him angrily away and crawled back over to the edge of the cliff. 

“Katria!” she screamed. 

Cullen was on his back and let his head fall against the sharp pebbles under him. His entire body was vibrating with adrenaline, terror, disbelief—the blood pounding in his ears drowned out the other sounds around him. He took a few shuddering breaths, determined to regain control; he wasn’t a commander anymore, but that didn’t make him not a soldier. 

He sat up and took stock of their injuries. Miller was still unconscious. Dorian was weakened from almost depleting his mana, but healthy. Bailey had blood on her sleeve, but she could still walk. There was a sharp pain in his side, a cut or strained muscle; he could ignore it. 

Bailey had given up shouting and spun around, her hands making a loud clank against his breastplate. 

“What are you _doing_?” she demanded. “We have to _go_ and-,”

Cullen grabbed her dirt-smeared fists. “Bailey, Miller is gravely injured. The water is moving too quickly to-,” 

“No—No, you _can’t_!” she cried, wriggling in his grasp. “You can’t give up!” 

Cullen rose to his feet, dragging her with him. “I’m not giving up, but we can’t search for her now.” 

Bailey was trembling in his arms. A soundless sob left her mouth. “P-Promise she’s not dead.” 

Cullen physically weakened at her words, hunching in, tightening his grip on her. He didn’t want to think about that—he _couldn’t_. Not now. 

“I—I promise,” he croaked, and he believed he’d keep his promise, even if it was foolish.

Cullen let go of her, and turned to Dorian. The mage cleared his throat, his expression mostly blank, if not a little dazed. 

“I should stay and…” 

Cullen sighed. It was dangerous to let him search out here alone, but he doubted Dorian could be convinced to do otherwise. 

“You’ll need your horse to make up the distance the river has taken her.” 

Dorian only nodded, and they quickly made their way down the slope, Cullen carrying Miller, and Bailey shuffling behind them. 

Luckily, because perhaps the Maker did not _completely_ hate them, they found Winthrop and Harding searching along the river bank. Cullen almost slumped over in relief upon seeing them. He sent Harding off with Dorian to search for Katria—or her body, his treacherous mind whispered, a thought which he promptly ignored. Winthrop, thin, and barely twenty, couldn’t carry Miller, so he sent the boy ahead into town to alert Katria’s personal guard and Inquisition unit to begin the search for her. 

Bailey and Cullen made it back to South Reach eventually—it was still the afternoon when they arrived, and the area was quiet, mostly because every able-bodied soldier had rushed past them on the road to the river. Miller was taken to the healer, who told Cullen she’d live. He also dragged Bailey there to have her wounds tended to—crying and sniveling and _insisting_ she be allowed to help search for Katria. Cullen wished desperately he could be better at comforting her, but it occurred to him that nothing could soothe the balm of potentially having lost someone like Katria. Almost certainly having lost her. 

Blackwall was still in town sending the fastest ravens back to Skyhold with a coded update on what had happened. He was mounting his horse when Cullen approached him. 

“I’ve had all my men dispatched to help your search,” he said. 

Blackwall barely spared a glance at him, his brow furrowed and thinly-veiled disdain rolling off him in waves. 

Cullen plowed forward. “You’ll tell me if you find something, yes?” 

He strapped one final bag to his horse. “I don’t remember you being a part of the Inquisition.” 

Cullen clenched his fists, angered by the realization that Blackwall’s disdain was directed at him. “This isn’t my fault. I tried to convince her not to go out there.” 

Blackwall finally turned to him, a scowl on his face. “ _I_ should have been the one with her.” 

“What difference would it make? I did everything I could,” he replied with a clenched jaw. 

“Did you?” he asked angrily. “I am Katria’s guard. I swore to protect her with my _life_. You would do no such thing.”

Cullen’s rage nearly choked him. This—this _murderer_ who had no right being in charge of _any_ men dared question his ability to protect her. He’d never wanted to throttle someone so badly in his life, although he realized his emotions were likely more off-kilter than normal.

Blackwall did not stick around for a fight. Instead, he threw a final glare in Cullen’s direction before mounting his horse and disappearing down the path to the river. Cullen tried to be understanding; as captain of the Inquisitor’s guard, there was really no worse transgression than Katria dying under his direction. Blackwall was meant to give his own life to save her, and he hadn’t even been given the chance. Cullen swiftly and angrily ignored his internal observation that perhaps Blackwall was devoted to Katria beyond the expectations of a normal soldier. 

Cullen’s frustration whooshed abruptly out of him, replaced with a fatigue that settled deep in his bones. He staggered against the tavern wall outside. The adrenaline from earlier had melted away, no longer disguising the sharp pain in his side or the dread that he could not deny the inevitably of her death forever. 

The door beside him flew open and slammed against the wall. Bailey stepped out, her mouth a small, hard line. Pickles trotted out behind her. 

“The healer told you to rest,” Cullen remarked. 

“I don’t care,” she said. 

He stopped her from walking any further, putting his hands heavily on her shoulders. “You can’t go out there.” 

“Why not?” she demanded, glaring up at him. “It’s all my-,” Her voice cracked, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Fault. All my fault.” 

“It’s not,” he said. “Bailey, I promise this isn’t your fault.” 

Pickles had walked past them both, sniffing the ground with ears perked up. Bailey watched him searching the road until her shoulders began to shake with her sobs. 

He furrowed his brow. “What—what’s wrong?” 

She buried her face in her hands. “I-I took—Pickles is looking for my fox. I brought him along o-on the trip, a-and when those mercenaries f-found us…the fox ran away. H-He’s gone!” 

Cullen gave a strangled sigh and let Bailey collapse against him. He gently patted her hair, his head swimming, utterly unable to think of the right words. Her pet fox and her mentor likely dead—neither were good for her emotional state. 

“I’m so stupid!” she exclaimed with a sniffle. 

“You’re not stupid,” Cullen said. He knew to say _that_ at least. 

Her voice was muffled against him. “What am I going to do?” 

Cullen pulled her back slightly. He did not know the answer to that question for himself either. But he did know that once upon a time his family had given him the support he needed when he finally, _finally_ admitted to suffering. Perhaps they could do the same for Bailey.

When he offered to take her home with him, Bailey only looked down and muttered something, but rather than let her stay here and run off in a desperate attempt to find Katria, he prepared a horse for her and they headed back to Mia’s. 

An additional layer of dread settled over him when they approached the porch. Rosalie flung open the door and beamed at them. 

“Mia told us what happened!” she said. “I’m so glad you’re alright, Bailey!” 

Bailey just looked down and kicked her toe against the porch in response. 

“Where’s Katria?” 

Cullen squeezed Bailey’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “Why don’t you, um, head inside?” 

Bailey threw him a glare and trotted into the house, Pickles slipping in behind her. 

Rosalie furrowed her brow. “Cullen?” 

He sighed and leaned against one of the wood beams supporting the porch. “There was…an incident, and…” He trailed off and clenched his jaw. “We were out by the river, on a pretty high cliff and…the Inquisitor fell. Into the water, got swept away. They’re out searching, but I’m not sure that—that she’s alive.”

Rosalie, emotive as ever, gasped. “ _What_?” She slapped her hand over her mouth.

“Yes,” he said, a feeling of numbness washing over him. “It’s—Bailey’s obviously broken up about it, and I—you’d be so much better at…” 

Rosalie dropped her hand. “Oh, of course! Don’t you worry about her.” She paused and wrung her fingers together. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Cullen said as he straightened and slipped past her, not stopping for Mia or Bran and heading up the stairs to his room. He removed his armor, inspecting the large black and blue bruise growing across his side. He must have done something else to it because his hip, his whole leg, had been wracked with pain when he rode on his horse to Mia’s. 

Though not a comforting thought, Cullen knew he would be no help going back out to search for Katria because of his condition, and he needed to stay here so his men had someone to report to. He attempted to lay in his bed, focusing his mind on anything other than Katria, before he became increasingly irritated. 

Cullen stood up to pace the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists. He had _told_ her not to go. It was dangerous and irresponsible. 

But, no, as always, Katria had to be the hero. Flinging herself into danger with _zero_ regard for her own life. When they had been together, he had been frustrated at how little she seemed to care about her survival—she couldn’t grasp how important she was. To Thedas. To him.

For Andraste’s sake, she hadn’t even _hesitated_. It was like her selflessness was somehow logic, ingrained indelibly in her mind. Rope too heavy for two people? Cut it, and plummet into the river. 

That was the Inquisitor. Katria fucking Trevelyan. The big hero. 

He gave a low growl, trying to push away all this sentiment he was feeling. If she was—was dead, what difference did it make? They hadn’t seen each other or spoken in two years, it was like she was dead then. Why should her fate matter now?

He continued to pace and lost track of time, the ache in his hip intensifying and his legs burning with worsening exhaustion. Eventually, he moved to the window in his room, watching darkness fall over the trees and empty farmland. Just as the sun set, he saw two horses winding up the road. 

Cullen burst from his room and sprinted out onto the porch. He straightened and tried to look as professional as possible when his two soldiers approached, including Winthrop. 

“Do you have an update?” he asked. 

They saluted to him, and Winthrop stepped forward. “There has been no sign of her in the river, ser. We backtracked along the bank and…” He was holding something in his hands and presented it to Cullen. “We found this wedged pretty good in some rocks.” 

Cullen slid his fingers around the thick wool of Katria’s neatly folded cloak. Her favorite—the one she’d worn almost every day since they arrived in Skyhold all those years ago.

He unfolded it. There was a tear along the bottom, and it was damp with water in addition to blood staining the top near the hood. He inhaled a shaky breath and then looked up. 

“I—thank you,” Cullen said. “I will deliver this to the captain of the Inquisitor’s guard in the morning. We can meet then also, and plan our next moves if the Inquisitor is not found.” 

“Yes, ser.” 

The men saluted to him again, and Cullen dragged himself back into the house. Rosalie was waiting by the door. He simply shook his head, but she stopped him, putting her hands on the cloak nestled in his arms. 

“It’s torn,” she said. “You know what? I can fix it. Get the blood stain out too. So it’s nice and clean for—for when she comes back.” 

Cullen sighed. “Ros-,” 

She took it from him without another word. Rosalie was a talented seamstress, so he knew she’d make it like new, even if there was no use. 

Cullen returned to his room and must have fallen asleep because when he shot up from his bed, yellowish light was shining in his eyes. He blinked a few times, then looked out at the window at the first rays of the sunrise. His exhaustion had been more severe than he thought, it seemed. 

The door behind him opened, and he sat up quickly and turned, wincing at the pain it brought to his side. Mia appeared, holding Katria’s cloak in both hands. 

“Ros did great work,” she said, putting it down on his bed. “How are you?” 

Cullen ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it. “Fine.” 

Mia didn’t press the matter and folded her hands together. “Well, I’m here if you need it.” 

“How is Bailey?” he asked. 

“Tired,” Mia replied. “Ros is fussing over her. She’s making breakfast, too, if you’re hungry.” 

Cullen turned to the window, his back facing her. “Thanks.”

He heard Mia descend the stairs, and he resisted the urge to touch Katria’s cloak for all of two seconds. He reached back, pulling it towards him. Ros did a good job; the tear was sewn shut and the stain was gone. Katria would be—

He stopped himself because for all he knew, Katria would never see her cloak again. He’d give it to Blackwall—a thought that infuriated him—and they’d probably bury her in it. Erect a statue in her honor that she’d hate. 

Cullen ran his fingernail along the delicate silver embroidery sewn into the edge of the cloak. He remembered all the times he’d seen her wearing it—the times he’d spotted her from far away, approaching Skyhold, and tried not to look too desperate waiting on the battlements for her. She’d worn it after her defeat of Corypheus, surrounded by her adoring followers. 

When things had been…good between them, he’d slide his hands underneath it to hold her close, the wool scratchy against his cheek as he buried his face in her neck. She even wore it when they met in the gardens to play chess when time permitted—and time was cruel, so it rarely permitted. They would meet early in the mornings, when the air was still and the castle mostly quiet except for the armored footsteps of his men on the battlements. He had found it odd that Katria wore her cloak then. She said it was because the weather was cold, but Cullen eventually realized she used it to help her cheat. 

He smiled slightly at the memory, the time when he’d finally caught her breaking the rules.

_The wind kept pushing her hair across her face as she gestured emphatically with her hands, telling him about her recent trip to the Fallow Mire and how much Dorian had hated it there. He very much liked watching her tell stories._

_Katria cracked a joke, and Cullen laughed, tilting back his head and closing his eyes, trying to remember a time when he was happier._

_Then he looked back down and noticed a piece was missing from the board in front of him. He lifted his eyes to her face, and she smiled so warmly at him, he almost let her get away with it._

_Almost._

_Cullen shifted in his chair, resting one elbow comfortably against it._

_“I seem to be missing a piece.”_

_Katria shook her head. “Oh, Cullen,” she said, making her move on the board. “Don’t be silly.”_

_He leaned forward and pointed to an empty square. “It was right here. A pawn.”_

_“I can’t believe you would tarnish my good name by accusing me of cheating,” Katria replied, putting her hand to her chest in mock surprise._

_“Surely you remember that I had a piece there.”_

_She tapped her chin with one finger. “I don’t recall that.” Her eyes flickered up to him, and she gave a crooked grin. “But your present company makes it so difficult for me to concentrate sometimes.”_

_Cullen blushed at that, letting a smile tug at his serious expression. He cleared his throat. “Your flattery doesn’t excuse you from being caught cheating.”_

_“I never admitted to that,” she said._

_He gave a small laugh. “Oh, but cheating is precisely what you’re doing.”_

_“Prove it.”_

_Cullen scrutinized her, his smile widening. Her palm was rested against her leg within her cloak. The pieces of his she’d captured were clustered next to the board and were all accounted for. Which means she’d swiped the piece, tucked it into her sleeve, and hadn’t had time to discreetly place it with the others._

_“It’s in your sleeve,” he said._

_Katria scooted up in her chair, her boots sliding against the stones underneath them. “I asked you to prove it, not make more accusations, Commander.”_

_Cullen grinned and lunged forward, reaching for her arm, but she leapt up and slipped from his grasp, her cloak fluttering around her. She squealed with delight when he jumped from his chair and chased her down into the garden._

_Katria hurried around the flower bed on the stone path, and Cullen hurled himself over it, gaining him enough ground that he could grab one part of her cloak and wrap his other arm around her waist from behind. Though he suspected she was trying to be caught._

_“You are surprisingly agile for a man in armor,” she said, melting back against him with a chuckle._

_“You have no idea,” he replied, his voice husky, and he felt her shiver and then tense in his arms. “Now, let’s find that chess piece.”_

_Katria let out a shriek of laughter as he ran his hand down her side—she was quite ticklish. He quickly moved to her arm, his fingers feeling along the sleeve of her tunic until the soft give of her skin turned into something uncharacteristically hard and wooden._

_She squirmed and wrestled with him, shoulders shaking from her giggles, but he managed to pop the piece out into his free hand._

_Cullen steadied her with the arm at her waist and turned so he could meet her eyes, holding the piece before her with a triumphant grin._

_“Oh, Inquisitor, how far you have fallen.”_

_Katria smirked back at him, her cheeks a fetching shade of red from the cold, dark tendrils of hair framing her face. “I’ll let you win this one, Commander, but only because you were so very diligent in your investigation.” She curled up to his breastplate, her hand sliding across his back._

_“I thought about dropping it down my shirt, you know.”_

_“I might have enjoyed retrieving it that way,” he replied, a little astonished by his own boldness, but pleased because Katria’s eyes widened and she bit down on her lower lip. Then, with a blush and a sheepish smile, he added: “In private, of course.”_

_“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”_

_Katria lifted her hand to his face, cupping his jaw with her sword-calloused fingers. He used the arm at her waist to pull them flush against one another. She kissed him, her lips chapped from the cold, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was her intoxicating scent, how strong and warm and real she felt in his arms._

_Cullen got carried away. He let the chess piece fall from his hand onto the stone path, then tightened his hold on her under her cloak, sliding his tongue past her lips to taste her—a sensation that was the sole occupation of his mind for an inordinate amount of time when she was gone from Skyhold._

_She separated from him after a few moments. “Cullen,” she said, a little breathless._

_He tensed up, his brow wrinkling. “I’m sorry, Katria, I didn’t-,”_

_She clung to him with a soft smile, not letting him pull away. “No, no—I was only going to say that this is excellent incentive for me to continue to cheat.”_

_Cullen let out a short, relieved laugh. “Oh, well, yes. I really shouldn’t be rewarding you.”_

_“I won’t cheat anymore if you kiss me like that,” she whispered with a small smirk._

_He moved his hand to her face, running his thumb along the scar on her cheek down to hold her chin. “If I didn’t know you so well, I’d almost believe you.”_

_Katria positively beamed at him then, pressing her mouth quickly to his before she spoke._

_“Clever man. Now I remember why I like you so much.” She looked down at the discarded chess piece between them and gave it a little tap with her foot._

_“Do you want-,”_

“-tea?” 

He looked up abruptly, jarred by the sound of a voice behind him. 

Rosalie repeated herself. “Cullen, do you want some tea?” 

He turned around on the bed and watched his sister scurry into the room holding a cup. She’d finished making breakfast, the scent wafting to his room, the sound of voices and plates clinking echoing up from downstairs. Rosalie gently set the cup on the table beside his bed. 

“It will make you feel better,” she said with a smile. 

Rosalie stopped in front of him, her brow rising as she noticed Katria’s cloak clutched tightly in his hands. 

“Cullen,” she said, her voice soft, sympathetic even. 

He shucked the cloak off his lap onto the bed. “Ros, I wasn’t—it’s nothing. I’m fine.” 

“You’re sad.” 

“I said I was fine,” he insisted, lifting his head to meet her teary gaze. “Really.” 

There was so little purpose in remembering those things. They were useless relics. That time in his life—when he and Katria had actually _worked_ —was such a small sliver compared to all the years he’d been alive. He couldn’t cling to the memories. 

Rosalie had moved towards the door. “Katria’s going to be okay,” she said fleetingly. “She’s faced worse odds, right?” 

Cullen snorted. Katria had faced _much_ worse odds. Her escape from Haven, taking on Samson, Corypheus, countless dragons, physically entering the Fade _twice_ —all events that could have swiftly and decisively taken her life, yet she emerged victorious. Would a fall from a cliff, ending up in a river, really be how the Herald of Andraste was killed? 

Doubtful. Or Cullen tried to convince himself of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe confident-chess Cullen is some recompense for the cliff-hanger. Though I'm a little uncertain in its execution, I didn't want to take it out. Because feelings. 
> 
> Next chapter should be up soon!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-chapter warning for brief reference to rape/non-con.

Katria knew that when she woke up gazing at a network of branches, sunlight filtering through them, she should be thankful. The feeling of the damp dirt underneath her meant she was _alive_. As in, not dead. 

But _fuck_ did it hurt to be alive. 

She let her eyes flutter shut, focusing inwards on the aches pulsing along her body. Is it possible that she was just injured everywhere? Katria gave a small wince, trying to concentrate harder. Her chest hurt. Her arm. Her leg. Yep, everywhere. 

Katria lifted her head when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. It was unusually warm, and she realized that there was healing magic prickling the point of contact. She blearily opened her eyes again. 

A middle-aged woman was beside her, black hair pulled back from her face. She wasn’t wearing mage robes, but there was a staff strapped to her back. 

“How do you feel?” the woman asked gruffly. 

Katria opened her mouth, wincing at the dryness in her throat. “Like I fell from a cliff into a river.” She tried to peer around the woman. “Where am I?”

She stepped back, removing her hand from Katria’s body, which was now significantly less achy. They were in a small clearing in the forest, a fire built in the center and surrounded by six or seven others. 

“We’re at camp,” the woman said. “We found you on the river bank and brought you here after I healed you.” 

Katria tried to sit up on her elbows. “What is a mage doing in the middle of the forest?” 

“I could ask the same question of the _Inquisitor_.” She wiped her hands on her coat. “Since you asked, my name is Elise, and I _am_ a mage. But, I am primarily a spirit healer, so it’s been fairly easy for me to lay low and avoid the Circles. I’m in charge of this group.”

Katria surveyed the people in the camp again. They were well-armed, mostly bulky warriors, except for the mage. Her eyes stopped on a light-haired woman staring at her from across the fire, brows low over an angry glare. There was a huge knot on the side of her temple, and her hand was wrapped in a white bandage. 

“Well, shit,” Katria muttered, looking away and back up at the sky. 

She recognized the woman—it was her captive, whom she’d interrogated for information about Bailey’s whereabouts. Which likely meant that this was the _other_ half of the mercenary group that she, Cullen and Dorian had killed earlier. 

And while Katria was glad they’d saved her, she assumed their motivation for doing so was not at _all_ altruistic. The woman she’d interrogated smirked and slowly stood. 

As she approached, she spun a dagger around her hand. Katria’s dagger. In fact, the woman was wearing Katria’s armor—gloves, boots, coat and all. Katria, in turn, only had on a rough-spun tunic, breeches, and nothing on her feet. 

“Nice outfit,” Katria remarked sourly. 

The woman looked down at it, grinning and running her fingers along the collar. “You think so? I probably do it more justice than you, Inquisitor.”

“Why am I here?” Katria asked, sliding her palms along the ground to push herself up. She clamped her mouth shut to trap the wince of pain in her throat. 

“Imagine our surprise yesterday when my comrades found you, the Herald of Andraste, washed up on the river bank barely clinging to life,” she remarked. 

“Shocking.” 

She crouched down and grabbed Katria’s hand, placing a dagger between her thumb and index finger. She rolled the sharp end across Katria’s skin. “Do you think you will have the same value to the Inquisition missing one finger?” 

“Very clever,” Katria said, trying to pull her hand away, to no avail. “But to be clear, I didn’t cut your thumb off _or_ kill you.” 

The woman released her, and Katria kept talking, although she knew she should probably be quiet. 

“So that’s your game, then?” she began. “You're going to ransom me back off to the Inquisition for some absurd amount of money?” 

“We _did_ save your life—that deserves a reward,” she replied. “Although _I_ have been suggesting that we turn you over to the Keepers.” 

Katria stiffened and crossed her arms over her chest. “So I guess you’re the one in the group who comes up with dumb ideas?” 

The woman scowled and, still in a crouching position, punched Katria directly in the mouth. Katria’s head snapped back, and she lifted her hand to her split lip with a loud curse. 

“Gabriela!” the mage exclaimed angrily, clamping onto her shoulder and pushing her back. 

“Did you hear what she said?” Gabriela snarled. “She’s a glib bitch, and we should send her back to the Inquisition in fucking pieces.”

Katria pulled her hand from her mouth—her fingers were streaked with red. “Your idea isn’t any less stupid just because you punched me in the face.” 

Gabriela lunged at her again, but Elise held her back, though her expression was not kind. 

“Why shouldn’t we give you to the Keepers?” Elise asked. 

“They’re not going to give you the coin you want,” Katria replied. “I mean, they haven’t even paid you for your services in South Reach, and my people in the Inquisition could meet any price you name.” 

Gabriela leaned closer, and Elise reluctantly let go of the woman’s shoulder. “I know you were the one who killed the other half of our group—we found their bodies yesterday on the cliff,” she said. 

Katria paused before responding; she wasn’t certain denying it would do her much good. “Yes,” she finally said. “I only did what I thought was necessary. You could kill me, for revenge, if you wanted. Considering how much gold you’d get keeping me alive, that’s a lot of money to give up for vengeance.” She shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I’m—I’m a little sorry. I don’t actually _like_ killing people. I avoid it when I can. Which is why _you_ aren’t dead, by the way.” 

“You really think that helps?” Gabriela snapped. 

“I—no,” she said, then gestured over to the fire, where a nug had been butchered and was roasting on a spit. “But I can tell all of you want to get out of here, and quickly. You’re a bunch of Orlesian mercenaries—you don’t live off the land. You raid empty villas and poison nobles and return to likely lavish accommodations in Val Royeaux. Look at that nug. It looks like it was butchered by a toddler with a fork. You all are floundering. There’s no reason to kill me. Get your money, and get out of here.” 

Gabriela still did not like her tone, apparently, because she narrowed her eyes. “Watch your mouth, _Inquisitor_.” 

“I’m currently bleeding _from_ the mouth, so thanks, I will.” 

Elise folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe we give you to the Keepers for political reasons. Your reforms have not been exactly popular. The Keepers kill you, and things might go back to the way they were.” 

“Sure. The former apostate wants the traditional Circle system reinstated so she can get hunted by Templars,” Katria said. “Also, I know how sell-swords work. It’s not about politics. It’s about who is the highest bidder.” 

Gabriela slid her knife into her belt. Her expression was murderous. 

“Then you’d better hope your friends are the highest bidders.”

The two women returned to the fire—after binding Katria’s hands, of course—and Katria sat further away, feeling very un¬-Inquisitorial with no shoes and covered from head to toe in dirt. She needed a plan—things seemed safe enough for now. For once, she was thankful to be the Inquisitor. She was simply too valuable to kill. But who knows how much coin they would ask the Inquisition for? Or what kind of insurance they would demand to ensure that Katria didn’t chase them down once she was returned to her men?

No matter what, she had to return home. Bailey didn’t need her, maybe—Maker knows she wasn’t the best role model—but the girl didn’t deserve further trauma. And Elise was right; her reforms of the Circle would not hold if she wasn’t around, not with Vivienne waiting in the wings to win Cassandra to her side and reverse Katria’s progress. 

That, and if she didn’t make it back, if her rescue attempt going to shit is what killed her, then Cullen would be right about her recklessness. Intolerable. 

The mercenaries moved after about an hour, likely because her Inquisition unit had expanded their search past the river bank for her and could encounter them at any moment. Katria was sandwiched between two of them as they walked, being shoved along for almost half the day, the sun high above their heads. 

Both of her guards had daggers on their belts; Katria _could_ divest them of their weapons, kill one or both of them if she was lucky, but then there would be five other already angry mercenaries who would want to kill her even more. And while the promise of coin was an excellent motivation _not_ to kill her, it was not a fool-proof one.

The other problem was that Katria had no idea exactly where they were. In the forest, obviously, but who knows how far down the river she had made it before they found her? Not that South Reach could be _too_ far. She hoped.

When they stopped for a brief moment in a small alcove, Katria tried to search the area more closely. Her eyes scanned in front of her, then to the side, where she saw one of the men accompanying her leering. 

He reached out, his calloused fingers grabbing her chin. “Let’s see that pretty smile of yours, Your Worship.” 

“Maybe if you get your hands off me,” she replied. 

He stepped closer with a smirk. “Elise said we couldn’t kill you. She didn’t say I couldn’t find another use for that smart mouth of yours.” 

Katria’s brows dropped low over her eyes as a shiver ran up her spine. “Leave me alone.” 

He moved his hand from her face to her chest and that was the end of _that_. Katria threw all her weight against him, slamming them both into a nearby tree before they slid backwards and tumbled to the ground. He tried to scramble up first, but Katria rolled over, placing her arms against his chest. 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” she said, ignoring the pain shooting through her ribcage. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the _Inquisitor_. So, you could do things your way and touch me with those inelegant and uncoordinated hands of yours, but I’ll be returned to my people, eventually. I’ll remember what you look like, and I’ll remember your name, and I’ll have the resources to hunt you down and make you _pay_ for what you might do to me. I have very creative friends with plenty of ideas about what constitutes torture, in case you were wondering.”

Katria was not sure how effective her threat was—probably not so much because men like him were not persuaded by logic or threats—but instead of a reply, she felt a heavy boot sock her directly in the stomach. 

She crumpled inwards with a strangled sound and fell over. A rough hand pulled her up and she winced. 

“Do you want to get hit in the face again?” Gabriela growled. 

“Is that a serious question?” Katria asked, wheezing. “Or are you trying to threaten me? Poorly.” 

Gabriela pulled out her dagger, and part of Katria wished she could _shut up_ because she was probably taking too much advantage of the whole ‘being the Inquisitor’ thing. Katria heard rustling behind her and turned her head slightly.

“Did you hear that?” she asked. 

Gabriela tightened her grip on Katria’s tunic. “Quit changing the…” She trailed off as the intensity of the rustling increased. 

The other mercenaries were on alert, unsheathing their weapons, turning to the source of the noise. Gabriela yanked her back as a group of people broke through the trees. An older man was leading them, gray hair along his temples and a sword strapped to his belt. 

“Great,” Katria muttered, her hopes of encountering Inquisition soldiers dashed. “More mercenaries.” 

Gabriela wrapped her fingers tighter around Katria’s arm. “Not mercenaries,” she said. “Keepers.” 

“Elise,” the man said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Elise stepped forward with her staff in hand. “What are you doing here?” 

He smirked as he looked with disdain past the mage to Katria. “We have been tracking you since you were _supposed_ to meet up with us to receive your payment. I see you’ve found another way to make some coin. From the Inquisitor, no less.” 

The man had recognized Katria fairly quickly, despite how haggard she looked. He was well-groomed and well-spoken—probably a former Chantry cleric, so his sword was also probably more ceremonial than anything. Some Chantry members and Templars had left the church a year ago after Katria’s reforms were deemed too ‘radical.’ The defectors quickly joined the ranks of the Keepers.

Katria leaned over to whisper to Gabriela. “Give me a knife.” 

“What?” she began incredulously. 

Katria gestured with her bound hands towards Elise. “The Keepers want you to turn me over to them. They will gladly fight you, and if you don’t arm me, you all will lose. Look—you’re outnumbered.” 

“Why would you want to help us?” she hissed. 

“Because if the Keepers slaughter you all, they’ll kill _me_ next. And I’d like to be ransomed back to the Inquisition as opposed to delivered to them with my head on a pike,” Katria said. This was a stupid plan on her part, maybe. Or a fool-hardy one. But she’d seen people do stupider things when adrenaline and the threat of death was high. 

Elise’s conversation was getting more heated. “Give us the Inquisitor, or we _take_ her,” the man said firmly.

Elise crossed her staff to her other side. “We are not just going to _hand_ you someone so valuable. And you can't give us the money the Inquisition can, no matter what you promise.”

The man scowled and motioned with two fingers. Katria heard the twang of a bow string being pulled back. She ducked and yanked Gabriela with her as an arrow flew through the air above them and lodged itself into a nearby tree. 

“Knife!” Katria demanded, shaking her tied wrists as the mercenaries let out loud cries and rushed forward. Gabriela looked up at the clanging of swords in front of them, then back down at her with a panicked expression. She grimaced and sliced through the rope at Katria’s hands. 

“ _Don’t_ try anything,” she snarled, handing her the knife she had used. “Just help.” 

Katria gave a curt nod, then jabbed the knife up into the gut of an approaching Keeper. The man staggered forward and fell down beside them. 

“You’re welcome,” Katria said as she stood with Gabriela. 

Katria couldn’t move as much as she’d like—a soreness, or a sharp pain, if she was honest, lingered and made her clumsy. Gabriela stayed beside her on Elise’s orders. Katria threw her dagger at an approaching Keeper’s neck just as the man drew his bow. Gabriela tossed her another knife that she spun in her hand before parrying a blow from a warrior beside them for just long enough to allow Gabriela to bury her sword deep in his leg. 

With three dead around them, they were clear for a few moments. Elise’s mercenaries had made a sizable dent in the Keeper’s numbers—only one or two, including their leader, remained. She tightened her grip on the knife in her hand; Elise would win, and Katria would return to South Reach with them, but no one, except Gabriela, was paying attention to her now. 

Katria swung her closed fist around directly into Gabriela’s nose. She heard a sickening _crack_ before Gabriela let out a low wail and fumbled backwards. Katria shot off into the forest behind her, trying to ignore the pain running along her spine as she staggered through the trees. 

She sprinted—or tried, at least—far, until the sound of clashing swords and shouts were mostly indistinct. She stumbled to a stop, resting her hands on her knees and panting.

Escape. Escape was good. Sure, Katria had no idea where she was, or what direction South Reach was in, but she was no longer the captive of some mildly-unpleasant mercenaries. That…might be considered an improvement. If she had the strength to move forward. 

Katria leaned against a tree, the bark sharp even through her dirt-streaked tunic. She tried to catch her breath. Eventually, she wiped the sweat from her brow just as a loud shout echoed through the forest. 

“I know you’re close, you _bitch_! When I find you, I’m-,” 

Katria jumped up and ran forward, her steps clumsy, snapping twigs and rustling leaves as she weaved between the trees. She heard similar sounds behind her, _too_ close behind her, and her heart clenched. 

Someone tackled her from behind, slamming her into the ground and rolling her with a firm hand against her sternum. Katria gave a painful, serrated exhale, squirming violently, but she was too weak to break free. 

Gabriela had blood streaked across her face, and she spat on the ground beside her before digging her knee into Katria’s stomach and punching her in the jaw. Katria slumped back against the ground, determined to not sound like she was in pain, though tears pricked the corner of her eyes. Gabriela bared her teeth and put a knife against Katria’s neck. Her hands were shaking with rage. 

“I told you not to try anything,” she growled. 

Katria ran her tongue along her lower lip, tasting blood there. Her chest was heaving as Gabriela pushed down too hard against her. “Y-You can’t blame me for trying.” 

Gabriela leaned down further, sweat pooling at the end of her nose. “I am getting very tired of your attitude, Herald.” She pushed her knife harder against Katria, just breaking the skin of her neck, making her jaw clench. 

“Elise won’t let you kill me,” Katria choked out. 

Gabriela smiled sickly. There was blood on her teeth. 

“No, but she will let me punish you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but the next one will be up tomorrow! A certain blonde, ex-Templar might make an appearance, probably. (Definitely.)


	10. Chapter 10

Gabriela dragged her back to the camp, growling all matter of obscenities. Katria, for once, kept her mouth shut, mostly because her jaw was throbbing and it hurt to talk. 

She knew she needed a plan in case Gabriela’s pride was wounded enough that she suggested some sort of drastic punishment. If Katria was lucky, the Keepers took out a good number of Elise’s mercenaries. If only three or four of them remained, she might be able to incapacitate them for long enough to escape. But perhaps she was in worse shape than she’d like to admit and neutralizing _any_ enemy might be impossible.

There was…one other option, although it wasn't a good one. Katria looked down at the mark on her hand, wiggling her fingers and making the weak green glow flex in her palm. She lifted her head once they broke through the trees back to the small clearing where Elise was. 

“I found her,” Gabriela growled. 

Elise turned, her lips pressed tightly together. “Inquisitor. It’s a shame you have not taken our work here seriously.” 

Katria wiped her sleeve across her lip. “To be fair, I take hardly anything seriously.”

Elise walked forward, gesturing backwards to the pile of bodies behind her. “As you can see, we are not afraid to fight and kill to be able to ransom you.” 

Gabriela tightened her grip on her arm. “And now we can teach you what happens when you interfere with our operations.” 

“I’m willing to cooperate with you,” Katria said. “You can’t blame me for trying to escape.” 

“We actually can,” Elise replied. “I am not stupid. I know that the minute we release you back to your men, it’s entirely likely you will turn around and hunt us and our coin down.” 

“I won’t do that,” Katria said. 

Elise secured her staff on her back to free her hands. “Forgive me if I don’t take your word on that.”

Gabriela slid her hand down to Katria’s wrist, raising it. “We need to let the Inquisition know we’re serious about our demands. If we send them their precious Herald’s marked hand, perhaps we’ll get their attention.” 

“Wait—what?” Katria began, jerking back. “That’s just, I mean, the _worst_ idea. You can’t.” 

Gabriela smiled. “Oh, the Inquisitor with such a smart fucking mouth has no witty come-back?” 

“No, you don’t understand,” Katria insisted. “I need this mark. If the Breach reopens, or more rifts appear, I’m the only person that can close them.” 

“Why would we care about that?” Gabriela sneered. 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because all your money won’t be very useful if a tear in the Fade consumes all of Thedas.” 

“That’s a load of shit and you know it. That wouldn’t happen again,” Gabriela snapped. 

Katria sighed impatiently. “Listen, I get that your pride is wounded because I hit you in the face, but there’s no point in being so unreasonable.” 

Gabriela fumbled for the knife at her belt, pointing it at Katria’s chest. “I think you need to be taught a lesson.” 

Katria looked over at Elise, swallowing, looking panicked, which only seemed to satisfy the mercenaries and make them smirk. “I don’t want to hurt you all.” 

Elise gave a short laugh. “You don’t want to hurt us? Six armed men and one mage against an injured woman with zero weapons on her person?” 

Gabriela yanked her backwards by her wrist, while Katria dug her heels into the dirt. “No, I’m _serious_!” she exclaimed, as she felt sweat breaking out across her brow. “You can’t do this!”

Gabriela snorted. “Oh, _now_ she’s serious.” She dragged Katria further to a tree stump and knelt down to press her wrist against it. 

“Come help me!” she ordered, and two men—including the one who had leered at her earlier—rushed over. 

If they pinned her arms in, she’d be done for. Katria held out her free hand to the approaching men. 

“Just wait!” 

They did not listen. Katria gave a low, frustrated growl. She was out of options. 

Katria turned her wrist so her palm faced up towards Gabriela, who was leaned over her with her dagger. The green glow in her hand flared up and crackled. Gabriela flinched and jerked back—like most people did—and Katria wrenched from her grasp. 

The two men near her pulled out their swords right away, lunging at her. Katria raised her arms and crossed her wrists, feeling a painful surge in her hand as the air tightened around her. 

Katria felt pain rip through her chest, convinced for a second that the rift roaring to life above them was also killing _her_. She collapsed on her knees, her palms flat against the hard ground. The sound around her was deafening, rocks vibrating around her, her teeth clattering in her jaw. 

And then it all ended. A rush of air whooshed past her, and then she heard a loud pop as the rift closed. It was deathly still around, the silence broken by her loud groan. 

That had hurt. A lot. More than was logical, more than it ever had. Her bones ached; she felt like every ounce of energy she had was extracted from her. 

“Fuck,” she choked out. “Oh _fuck_.” 

Katria could hear it now—Dorian, with his stupid smirk, and well-groomed facial hair, shaking his head: _I told you so, my dear_. 

The Veil had been too stable—or something like that. She’d never paid attention when Solas lectured her about the Fade. Or Dorian for that matter. 

Katria collapsed further onto her elbows, her labored breath sending up small puffs of dirt around her face. She was dying, or felt like it, at least. 

Dying like the mercenaries just had. Erased from existence, armor and all, by a rift of her own creation. Some of whom deserved it, but Maker, did she hate having to kill people. Especially now that she felt too weak to move and was subsequently stranded in the forest with absolutely _no clue_ where she was. 

She clenched one hand into a fist and grunted. Fuck Cullen for being right about her. _Don’t be so reckless, Inquisitor. Be more responsible._

Katria fell to one side, the pain in her head and palm intensifying. She closed her eyes. 

There was some good news—she was no longer surrounded by bandits, one of whom wanted to cut her hand off in a rage. Katria was not an easy woman to keep captive. The perks of being the Herald of Andraste. 

Katria winced and felt her consciousness slowly slip away. Maybe things would be better the next time she woke up. Though she doubted it. 

=== 

The sun was rising when Katria’s eyes fluttered open. The suddenness of the bright light made her blink and tear up, but it was nothing compared to the pain in the rest of her body. She cleared her throat, though it provided no comfort for her thirst. 

She took a deep breath, ignoring the tightness in her chest, and brainstormed next steps. Moving. Moving would probably be a good plan. Katria rolled over to her side, dragging her fingernails through the dirt in the hopes of having enough leverage to push herself up. 

She needed to make her way south. Or at least she thought she should. It was doubtful the mercenaries had passed South Reach, and she’d been north of the town when she’d fallen into the river. However, there was no telling how far she’d have to travel to make it back—and if she could make it that far in her state. 

The road that led into South Reach ran along the east side of the forest—if she could make it there and come across some traveler or even her men that would be a rapid improvement of her situation. 

Once Katria got her bearings, she dug her fingers into the dirt and forced herself up. Her breaths came out as strangled wheezes. At first, all she could think was: _fuck you, Dorian, and fuck your rightness about using my mark and your scholastic aptitude for Fade studies_. 

Then, she tried to look on the bright side of things. Sure, it was actually quite cold outside, and she had no cloak, or shoes for her bloody feet, but she’d staggered through the wilderness in worse conditions. She was the fucking _Inquisitor_. Out of Haven, she’d stumbled for hours through a blizzard, mortally injured, and lived. She could do it again.

That line of thought kept her moving for about an hour. She tripped on a branch and fell face-first, busting her lip back open, making her occasionally spit blood onto the ground as she drug herself forward. 

Katria stopped, collapsing against a nearby tree. She wanted to rest, but she couldn’t. It was dangerous out here. Cold. She hadn’t had any water or food. 

“Okay,” she said, inhaling a shaky breath and pushing herself from the tree. “Okay. Just keep moving. This is…everything…fuck.” 

She moved forward, slower than before, and with each step promised herself some sort of reward if she made it to—wherever. As many tiny cakes as she could fit in her stomach, if she made it. The raspberry flavored ones and copious amounts of damn good alcohol, if she made it.

She thought of Bailey. Sure, the girl was a little prickly teenager at times, but she was also sweet and smart and brave. And Dorian—his teasing and arrogance was insufferable, but they were as close as she would ever get to family. They supported her like family, and she wanted to see them again. 

Katria also wanted a bath. Desperately. A nice, warm bath in her large copper tub. A bath replete with a handsome warrior who would massage her sore shoulders with his large, calloused hands. 

She stopped, raising one arm against a tree and putting the other at her waist as she caught her breath. She grit her teeth, although it hurt. Her exhaustion had worn down the carefully-erected barriers to her more honest thoughts—maybe, _maybe_ there was one particular handsome warrior she wanted. 

Katria staggered forward, dragging her feet, determined not to linger on that line of thought. She did not keep a firm grasp on how much time had passed, but the sun rose high above her head, obscured by grayish clouds, and she hoped, maybe even prayed, that she’d made progress. 

The trees began to thin around her, brighter light shining between them. She’d made it to the road. The _road_. Katria’s pace increased to a clumsy jog and she broke through onto the edge of the dirt road. 

It was empty. 

Katria sighed. She didn’t know what in the Void she expected. Her entire unit of Inquisition soldiers waiting at this exact point for her? She felt her legs weakening, and they collapsed in, the rocks hard against her knees. 

She rolled onto her back, looking up into the now clear sky above her head. 

After a while, she felt her eyes close, and the sounds of the forest became more muted around her. The fast clip of horse’s hooves echoed through her now empty mind. She stirred slightly. 

“Miss! Are you—oh. _Oh_.”

Katria heard more fumbling and opened her eyes slowly. She couldn’t see anyone, but heard the same voice nearby, shouting for someone. 

“U-Uh, ser! _Ser_!” 

“Maker, Winthrop, what is it?” 

“I, um…found the Inquisitor?” 

Katria tried to raise herself up in an attempt to move towards the voices, but pebbles skidded around her and a pair of hands grabbed her. 

“Maker’s breath— _Katria_?”

Cullen was looking down at her, his face obscured by shadow, so that she could only see one of his brown eyes and the dark circle caused by a lack of sleep underneath it. 

“Really?” she said, her voice raspy. “ _You_?”

His brow puckered. “I’m sorry, would you have preferred someone else?” 

Katria let her head fall against his chest—her temple felt cold against his breastplate. She always hated when he wore his armor. It kept her from his warmth. 

“Maybe not,” she muttered, struggling to keep her eyes open. “You don’t happen to have any tiny cakes, do you?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he replied, smiling slightly. He cleared his throat. “I’m so—I mean, it’s good that we found you. How did you even—Maker, never mind, are you hurt?” 

She exhaled through her mouth and winced. “So, don’t be mad, but…there was…I may have…” 

He shook her gently, his hands tightening around her. “Katria, hey, stay with me. I’m going to get you back to South Reach.” He pulled her closer, her body sliding up his knees. “You don’t have any wounds. What-,” 

Katria shakily raised her marked hand up. “Tell Dorian I...used the…mark and now I feel…” 

“You _what_?” Cullen blurted out. “You aren’t supposed to-,” 

“Yes,” she murmured, her words slurred. “Lectures are sure to cure me…” Her eyes fluttered shut after a dizziness began to grow in the back of her head. She curled up closer to him, her fingers sliding into the space between the collar of his breastplate and his neck. 

“Oh, um…” Cullen tensed and then pushed himself up to begin carrying her. “Let’s get you back to South Reach.” 

She nodded, not even caring that her hair was catching on the sharp edge of his armor. The world was beginning to feel a little fuzzy as she bounced in his arms. “You…” She inhaled his scent. “You smell the same, handsome warrior.” 

Katria would have been mortified saying that if she didn’t black out right afterwards.

===

Katria woke up with a small smile because things simply kept getting _better_. No more fucking trees, no more mercenaries or Keepers, just her bed, and the light pouring in from the window behind her. She felt much better, although still achy and weak as she shifted and lifted her head up to survey the room.

Dorian was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, cradling a book in one hand. He waited until he finished reading the page he was on before he snapped it shut and met her gaze. 

“Well, well, the dumbest Inquisitor in Thedas awakens.” 

“I’m the only Inquisitor in Thedas,” Katria replied. “So I’m also the smartest.” 

Dorian stood and walked over to her. He rested his hand against the bedframe beside her. “I _told you_ not to use your mark any longer. The amount of energy required to tear a hole in the now incredibly-stable Veil is--it's massive. Katria, you could have been killed. You have been unconscious for almost four days.” He shook his head. “You are just so-,” 

She lifted her finger. “Don’t say it.” 

“ _Reckless_.”

Katria huffed and slumped back against the bed. “I didn’t have a choice, Dorian! I wasn’t armed and I was in trouble.” 

“There were _dozens_ of people scouring the forest for you,” Dorian replied. “You likely would have been rescued.” 

“Yeah, I don’t really go for other people rescuing me. I can take care of myself.”

He sat down in the bed beside her legs. “And how did you do that? Everyone has been wondering what happened.” 

Katria folded her arms across her chest. “There were some mercenaries. A group of Keepers. They’re dead now.” 

“That was riveting,” Dorian replied. “Laden with such detail.” 

She smiled slightly. “And to think I almost died without hearing your humor ever again.” 

“I thought about that,” he said. “In the two days we were out looking for you. Do you know what your last words to me were? Fuck you.” 

“Seems appropriate.”

Dorian snorted. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re alright.” He shrugged. “Cullen was too, if you were wondering.” 

“I wasn’t.” 

The door beside the fireplace burst open. Bailey appeared, her face brightening, and she bolted across the room. She threw herself into the bed and Katria’s arms, which had been much more comfortable when the girl was ten as opposed to almost a fully grown adult. 

“Oof!” Katria squeaked out, before squeezing Bailey tightly, despite the growing ache in her chest. “Hey there, duck.” 

“You’re okay," Bailey said, her voice muffled against her shoulder. "I’m so mad you cut the stupid rope, but I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

“You and me both,” Katria replied. She pulled her back by her shoulders, inspecting her face and arms. “How are you? Healthy? No injuries?” 

“I’m better now that you’re here.” Bailey gave her a smile, but it was weaker than Katria thought it would be. The bed dipped down further as Pickles jumped up on the bed, trotting in a circle before flopping down at the end of it. 

“Where’s your fox?” Katria asked with a furrowed brow. 

Bailey fidgeted with her fingers. “I took him with me when Miller and I were scouting. He…ran away. I haven’t found him.” 

Katria took her hands and squeezed them. “I’m so sorry, duck.” She looked over at Dorian. “Is Miller in good health?” 

“She’ll be alright,” Dorian replied. “She’s headed back to Skyhold soon.” 

Bailey shook her arm. “Tell me about what happened! Cullen’s rescue and-,” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “Excuse me, what?” 

“Cullen,” Dorian said. “Rescued you? Came riding into town cradling your limp body in his arms like some valiant knight from-,” 

“He didn’t _rescue_ me,” Katria sputtered. “I rescued _myself_. I mean—he just found me on the road. I killed the mercenaries who found me. Has that been what people are saying?” 

“Well.” Dorian cleared his throat. “It’s what I have been telling people. And what I told Josephine. It’s really quite romantic, you know.” 

“And Cullen has agreed that your version happened?” she asked incredulously. 

“Oh no,” Bailey said. “He sort of scoffed and rolled his eyes when I told Bran and Ros what Dorian said.”

Katria glared at Dorian. “You have a lot of nerve.” 

“And charm,” he said. “Brilliance.” He shrugged. “You weren’t awake—because you’re an idiot—so I made my own version of the story. That’s more romantic and exciting…” He tapped his chin. “I wonder if Varric would incorporate it into his next novel.” 

“No,” Katria interjected. “No _way_. I gave him enough creative leverage with that first book.” 

“Why do you hate art?” Bailey asked impishly, rolling over to Pickles and rubbing his ears. “Everyone wants to hear about how your long-dormant love was reignited by Cullen’s heroic actions.” 

“Well now that I’m conscious I can set the record straight because _that_ certainly did not happen,” Katria said with a shake of her head. 

“I told everyone they could come into town to see you when you woke up,” Bailey said. “You can tell them then.” 

“Everyone?” she asked, one brow raised. 

“Yeah. Everyone,” Bailey said. “Cullen’s family. Plus Cullen, probably. He was very worried about you.” 

Katria leaned back against her bed. Despite her reservations, she probably should see Cullen. He deserved her personal thanks. And certainly an apology. She had not been as patient with him as she could have been when they first set out looking for Bailey. 

And, if she was more honest with herself, she just wanted things to feel more _normal_ between them. Not romantic. Just normal. Like they were two people who shared mutual trust and respect, not ex-lovers dancing around issues that had mostly faded from memory. Reconciliation was a silly hope—the past few days were simply a delay. She’d return to Skyhold soon, and Cullen would stay in South Reach. There was no point in establishing anything beyond civility.

“I look forward to seeing them before I leave,” Katria replied. She reached over and urged Bailey and Pickles off the bed. “Now, go fetch Blackwall because I’m sure there’s a mile high stack of reports waiting for me somewhere.” She rested her hand on her grumbling stomach. “Also, if you could find me the largest slice of cake you can carry and a bottle of West Hill Brandy that would be great.” 

Bailey scratched her head and looked out the window. “It’s, like, an hour past sunrise, Katria.” 

“And?”

Bailey rolled her eyes and scurried from the room in search of what Katria requested. Dorian gave her some potions to alleviate the pains in her ribcage and arm, then applied a poultice to the slowly-closing wound on her lip, while Katria went into a little more detail on what happened. 

She was still harboring the smallest amount of guilt over the fate of Elise’s mercenaries. But if there was anything she learned from being the Inquisitor, it was that issues of morality had many more degrees of gray than she’d like to admit. She had been forced to kill, sometimes for damn good reasons, and sometimes for shakier ones. 

Katria willfully ignored that perhaps relationships were like that too. That even though she and Cullen would soon be hundreds of miles apart, if she ever actually had to be rescued, which she’d never admit, she’d want Cullen out of anyone else to be the one swooping in to save her. At least he’d probably be the least smug about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, Katria's done being a bad-ass for the foreseeable future. A fighting badass. There will still be some diplomatic bad-assery, if that's even a thing. And feelings, obviously. Y'all are the best!


	11. Chapter 11

Katria knew the Rutherford’s had arrived before they even opened the door. She heard Rosalie’s excited squeal, the loud steps and chatter of small children, Pickles’ barking, and then that flood of sound burst into her room. Katria put down the report she had been reading and braced herself for the onslaught of hugs from Rosalie’s twins, which made her wince and sit down on the armchair by her fireplace because they were squeezing her ribs too tightly.

“Careful!” Mia ordered as she slipped into the room behind Ros and Bran. “Olive, be careful. Let her go.” 

The little blonde girl clinging to her waist reluctantly released her after asking for the third time if Katria had any gifts for them. Ros hurried forward with a smile. 

“We made you a pie!” she announced, thrusting a cloth-covered pan towards her. 

“And we brought brandy!” Bran added. 

Katria’s hands were now full, and she was overwhelmed in more than one sense of the word. This level of concern and energy directed towards her was jarring, to say the least. 

“Um—Maker, thank you,” Katria said, putting her gifts on the small table beside her.

“We’re just glad you’re alright,” Bran said, then he winked. “Although I wasn’t worried.” 

Katria smirked at Bran, then looked over at Rosalie. “I owe you a huge thanks. The captain of my guard gave my cloak back to me—he said you repaired it. You have no idea how much it means to have it back.” 

Rosalie’s cheeks flushed a further shade of red. “It was nothing.” 

Olivia was still standing beside her chair. “Uncle Cullen!” she said impatiently. 

Cullen was standing further away by the door. He perked up at the sound of his name and cleared his throat. “Oh, um, yes.” He squeezed between his siblings and presented her with the bundle of wildflowers clenched in his hand. 

Katria’s brow furrowed, her lower lip dropping a little. Cullen noticed her reaction and began sputtering. 

“I—no. It’s…the children picked these for you. I’m just holding them,” he explained hastily. “And now I’m giving them to you.” 

Katria smiled and accepted the flowers from him. “Right, of course. Thanks, Cullen. Or everyone.” 

“You’re welcome,” Olivia said before crawling into Katria’s lap. The little girl grabbed the edge of her tunic. “Now tell us what happened! Did you fight bandits? Did Uncle Cullen rescue you?” 

Cullen stiffened and turned bright red. “Maker’s breath, Olive, I already told you what happened,” he said. 

Olivia’s brother, Jack, apparently could not tolerate that his sister was in Katria’s lap, and he was not. He crawled up on the other side of them and settled down. 

“Oh, okay,” Katria said, grunting under the weight of two five-year olds squirming in her arms. 

“Tell the story,” Jack ordered, which made Mia clear her throat. 

“Please,” he added. 

Katria clicked her tongue in thought. Part of her wanted to completely smash to bits Dorian’s version of the story, but it didn’t really seem fair to propagate her own selfish agenda and make Cullen seem less heroic around his nieces and nephews. Plus, the killing. She didn’t really want to talk to them about all the killing she’d done. 

So, Katria subtracted the dying bandits, added some rabbits—because stories were always better with rabbits—made herself and Cullen equally heroic and ended with a very exciting chase on horses back into town. 

Cullen regarded her with an amused expression the entire time, and she resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. He should be thankful that she did not tell his family the unapologetic and much less interesting truth of the matter. Although, he probably already had because of his stupid and highly admirable sense of honor. 

Katria finished her story, all the while staring longingly at the bottle of brandy Bran had brought her. She didn’t spend much time around children, but it didn’t seem appropriate to pour herself a glass with them so close by. Plus, it was hardly an hour past breakfast.

“You’re much better at telling stories than Uncle Cullen,” Olivia remarked. 

“Among other things,” she replied with a smile, which made Cullen scoff. 

Jack leaned over the arm of the chair, the tips of his fingers rubbing the spot between Pickles’ ears as the Mabari lounged beside the fireplace and watched Bailey and Thomas, Mia’s eldest, as they were engrossed in conversation. “You’re not leaving for a while right?” 

Katria shifted because one of her legs was falling asleep. “I am, sadly. Two more days, and then I’m headed further east.” 

Her response was punctuated by a series of load groans and whimpers, which made Katria blush and grin sheepishly. They actually _liked_ her. As a person. It made her a tinge sad to leave. 

She talked to them a little longer, and Rosalie interrogated her about the dresses she begrudgingly wore on formal occasions. After about an hour, Blackwall came in with her daily correspondence, and Mia ushered everyone out after a series of drawn-out goodbyes where Katria consciously ignored what kind of farewell she was supposed to give to Cullen. 

Most of them had left the room—carrying their loudness down the stairs—and Cullen still stood by the door. He cleared his throat. “Is it, um…do you have time—I understand if-,” 

“I’d love to talk for a moment,” Katria said, then glanced over at Blackwall. “Could you just give me a minute to hear reports from him, and then-,” 

“Right, of course!” Cullen interjected hurriedly. “I’ll wait outside.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to-,” 

The door clicked shut before she could finish her sentence. Katria slumped back against her chair. Maybe it was better that he left for a moment—while Blackwall droned on about Josephine’s updates on their diplomatic relations, she could think about what in the Void she was supposed to say to Cullen. Hopefully something at least mildly coherent.

===

Cullen paced in front of Katria’s door, trying to tamp down his nervousness and prioritize what he was going to say. He needed to apologize. For what? A lot, most likely. He should probably also express some level of happiness that she was alive. 

The door eventually opened again and Blackwall appeared, leveling a glare in his direction that Cullen returned before stepping back into her room. Katria was pouring herself some tea and returned to her chair, her movements stiff and a wince escaping her mouth. Cullen thought about walking over, grabbing her arm and helping her, but he hesitated—which was painfully ironic because at the beginning of the week he’d held her so willingly in his arms.

She looked much better than when he’d encountered her bloodied and coated in dirt on the road the week before. Her lip was split on one side, but healing. She looked pale and very tired, but maintained her charming demeanor. Her casual nature—so un-Inquisitorial—was comforting and also maybe...intimate. Her dark hair was unbound and fell in loose waves past her shoulders; she wore a simple tunic and breeches with no shoes, very much not the Herald of Andraste and instead a normal young woman who had looked positively—Maker’s breath, looked positively _adorable_ with two five year olds in her lap. 

Katria directed him to the chair opposite her. “What was that?” she asked.

Cullen sat down. “What was what?” 

She took a sip of her tea, blanched, and then added more sugar. “That pissing contest you and Blackwall were having with your eyes. It looked like he wanted to melt you with his glare.” 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t ask me. Perhaps he is intimidated by my presence because you two are…” 

She furrowed her brow. “Are what?” 

“You know, together,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. 

Katria gave a short laugh. “Oh, no. We’re not. I learned my lesson about sleeping with men who work for me.” She stopped abruptly, her cup clenched in her hand. Her cheeks were bright red. “I’m sorry. It occurs to me I shouldn’t have said that. Out loud. In front of you.” 

Cullen cleared his throat and reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Uh, well, yes. I mean, it’s fine. It’s certainly a…logical rule to have.”

“Yes,” she said. “Trust me when I say I do not need any further complications in my life.” 

He slid his hand to his jaw, his stubble rasping across his palm. “Is there, ah, anyone you’re seeing, currently? Who isn’t working for you?” 

He knew Katria was staring at him as he kept his eyes on the reports scattered across her table. She was silent for a few moments, and Cullen was internally kicking himself for his boldness—he just wanted to know so _badly_. He probably deserved to be shut down after the way he’d responded to that question from her. 

Katria rubbed a wavy tendril of hair between two fingers. “It’s complicated, Cullen.” 

“Forgive me,” he said, lifting his head. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

She leaned back and let out of a puff of air. “You’re not. I only say it’s complicated because there’s this expectation that the Inquisitor marry someone with enough political connections. Love’s not really a part of the equation.” 

“You never really struck me as someone that would consent to that kind of arrangement,” he said. 

Katria’s gaze lowered, her lips pursed. “The Inquisition doesn’t have as much political capital as we did when Corypheus was defeated. I might not have a choice.”

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said. “I didn’t realize…” 

She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s alright. I’ve been successful in most of my attempts to avoid such contracts. For now.” 

Katria sighed. “Well, anyways, I didn’t ask you to stay to listen to my complaints. What I really wanted to do was…apologize,” she said, gently biting her lip. “For the way I treated you before we left to search for Bailey and Miller. I was far too aggressive. I know you were only trying to help.” 

“Oh,” Cullen began dumbly because _he_ was the one who was supposed to be sorry. “No, Inquisitor, it’s—there’s nothing to be sorry for. I understand.” 

She smiled slightly. “That’s kind of you. I also want to-,” She cleared her throat and motioned between them. “I mean, this has been weird. Between us, right?” 

“It’s my fault,” Cullen said. “I was trying to keep you at arm’s length because—well, I just shouldn’t have done that.” 

Katria shrugged. “I don’t know. It certainly has your trademark military logic associated with it. What purpose is there in re-establishing any type of familiarity when I’ll be leaving again?” 

He scooted forward in his chair closer to her. “It was wrong of me to act that way. Not when you’re—when you’re still…” Important. Kind. Distractingly attractive. 

“I guess you’re right,” Katria replied. “There’s no reason for us to act differently. We were friends once. We can be that way again. Who knows; I might even come back to South Reach.” 

Cullen looked down and folded his fingers together. “I hope you will.” 

She leaned over the small table between them and picked at the bouquet of flowers—the children had chosen mostly blue ones, since that was Katria’s favorite color. 

“So, are you glad?” she asked eventually. “That you returned here and left the Inquisition?” 

He met her eyes and raised his brow. “That’s…sort of a loaded question.” 

Katria laughed awkwardly and rubbed her arm. “Yeah, sorry, I guess so,” she said. “I just wanted to—we never talked about exactly why you left the Inquisition, but I’m aware that I probably contributed to your choice.” She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “My point is, your job made you happy, but you left it because of me. I just want to know that you’re doing okay.” 

There were a jumble of words caught in his throat. The same, silly things lingered between them—how in the Maker’s name could Katria think that his _job_ is what made him happy? It was fulfilling to do good, to lead his men, but it did not make him _happy_ to wake up in the mornings and sign requisition reports. There had been other things in the Inquisition that had once made him smile. 

Cullen tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. “There are very few people who get second chances with their family,” he said. “My parents may have died, but returning to Mia and Bran and Ros was a good thing. So, yes, Inquisitor, I am doing better than okay.” 

She smiled wanly. “I’m glad to hear that.” 

Cullen’s mouth curved up, and he blushed, acutely aware of the _aloneness_ of their situation, the soft line of her lip, her long legs tucked neatly under her in the chair as she leaned towards him. He cleared his throat. 

“I—um. You probably have a lot of work to do.” 

She ran her hand across her temple and sighed. “Yes. Go unconscious for a few days and the reports just pile up.” 

“Well perhaps that will teach you to not be so reckless in the future,” he said. 

Katria picked up a folded piece of parchment on the table with a snort. “Is this us being normal? You lecturing me about my recklessness-,” 

“And you in turn _completely_ neglecting my lectures?” 

“Just like old times,” she said, not looking at him as she read her report. “Minus the desk sex,” she muttered. 

Cullen coughed, bringing his fist up to his chest. “Um—I…” 

Katria laughed and shook her head. “Teasing you is just as fun as I remember.”

He knew he was a very muddled shade of red. “Glad you have such fond memories of me embarrassing myself in front of you,” he murmured, trying to hold back a smile. 

“I _really_ do,” she said, grinning at him. 

Cullen stood and rubbed his neck again. “I should let you go before I mortify myself further,” he said. “The last thing I wanted to do was make sure Bailey was doing alright. She was broken up after what happened to you.” 

Katria pressed the base of her palms against her eyes. “I know,” she said guiltily. “She’s improving, though obviously there’s been some trauma, and she’s done with field training for—forever. And the fucking fox and…” 

“What happened wasn’t your fault,” Cullen remarked. 

She dropped her hands. “Thank you for _saying_ that, although I doubt it’s true.”

“It is,” he insisted. “She’ll bounce back— _you_ are her mentor after all.” 

Katria pushed her hair behind her ear. “So complimentary. I don’t mind this whole friendship thing. Your concern for Bailey is touching and—well, just thank you. Really.” 

Cullen stood, soothing his hands down his pants to distract himself from the cacophony of thoughts swirling in his mind—she was beautiful, and he was having inappropriate thoughts about _that_ and maybe he should be more sorry or express more happiness that she was alive; the litany of things was overwhelming, so clenched his fingers, wishing he had brought his sword to hang on to. 

Katria pushed herself up from her chair. “Thanks for staying to talk to me. And for all your help this week. I’ll…” She tugged on the edge of her sleeve. “I’ll write? If that’s okay. To keep you updated. On business matters.” 

“Yes, absolutely,” he said. “Please.” Realizing that perhaps that sounded a little too eager, or even desperate, he took a step back towards the door. He hesitated—was he supposed to stay to shake her hand? Or hug her? Maker, he was thinking so hard he felt as if his brain might melt. 

Katria, as usual, made it easy for him. She bent over to gather up some reports and then walked over to him. Her free hand lifted to grip his arm and squeeze it. 

“I’m going to bring these back to Blackwall. See you around, Cullen.” 

She slipped past him, her shoulder within inches of his chest, and he scrambled for words. This couldn’t be it. He didn’t want it to be over. 

Cullen almost reached for her, but stopped himself. What if this _should_ be it? He had given some sort of apology, and she’d called him her friend. Was he going to grab her arm and tell her that the thoughts he had about her were beyond _friendship_ and no matter how impractical it was, or how purely physical it might be, he wanted to kiss her? 

No. No, it would be much smarter to stick with their polite smiles and pats on the arm, and attempt to have a friendship rather than lose it all again. 

Cullen nodded to her and waved as she disappeared down the hallway. When she was gone, he sighed—had he even actually said _I’m sorry_ for his unacceptable behavior to her? He wanted her to understand how important she was to him, and his words had likely failed him again. 

===

Katria’s strength did not fully return by the time she packed up with her men to travel to the Bannorn. She was not in pain, exactly—it was more like her energy had been sapped from her bones. She’d sleep for a full night, then wake up to Bailey shaking her shoulder, and still be exhausted. She didn’t tell anyone about this because she’d be damned if she heard another lecture about how irresponsible it was to use her mark. Although, now she was beginning to see their logic. 

Otherwise, her mind was preoccupied and fatigued by her thoughts about what had happened with Cullen. What transpired was an improvement. She’d gotten to apologize for her behavior, and he seemed at least somewhat willing to acknowledge her as something more than the Inquisitor. However, there was still that carefully erected wall of friendship between them—one she hid behind because it was easier and safer, despite the fact that she wanted nothing more than to reach over that wall and run her fingers along the scar on his lip. But that was merely physical attraction, and nothing more. Not after so long. 

Two days after her conversation with him, Katria was outside the tavern, her personal guard, Inquisition unit, and Bull’s Chargers all around her preparing their horses and travel caravans—there was a lot going on in the main road. 

Bailey dashed by her, Pickles nipping at her heels and her knapsack flapping on her back. 

“Did you double check your room?” Katria called after her. 

“Yes!” she shouted in reply, not adjusting her speed. 

“Did you _really_ -,”

“Yes!” 

Katria muttered something about prickly teenagers before inspecting a supply report brought to her by a scout. She shifted awkwardly while standing—the new armor she’d bought to replace her forfeit set did not fit as well as she’d like. But at least her cloak was in the condition it’d been in before she came to South Reach. At a nearby table, Katria stuffed a few remaining trinkets into her bag. 

“E-Excuse me, Your Worship?” 

Katria turned after slinging her pack over her shoulder. A young man was standing behind her with a crate balanced on his arms. He attempted to bow, which looked awkward considering the load he was carrying. 

“Can I help you?” Katria asked, then snapped her fingers. “Your name is Winthrop, right? One of Cullen’s men.” 

The boy’s eyes widened, his lower lip dropping in awe, and Katria smiled gracefully. 

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he said hurriedly. “I am.” He looked down at the crate before presenting it to her. “Cullen asked me to deliver this to you.” 

Katria put her palms flat on either side of the splintered wood and lifted it from his arms. “Thank you. I think.” It felt oddly empty, except for a lopsided weight in the corner. 

“Did it come with a note?” she asked. “Or did Cullen mention anything? I wasn’t expecting a package from him.” 

Winthrop extracted a carefully-folded piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to her. “He asked me to give you this, as well, Your Worship.” 

“Great,” she said as she took it. “Thank you very much for delivering this, Winthrop. And I’d also like to extend my personal thanks for your hard work scouting the forest this week.”

“It was—it’s my honor,” he said, bowing more fully this time. “Have a safe trip, Inquisitor.” 

The young man disappeared with a nervous smile into the crowds of people and horses around her. Katria flipped Cullen’s note thoughtfully between her fingers before opening it. 

_I wish I was better at saying sorry._

The parchment was not signed, but she recognized Cullen’s neat and deliberate hand. His words had no particular meaning to her; yet perhaps, deep down, after their conversation, she _had_ wanted more from him—maybe not exactly romance, but some more significant emotion, a sign that she still meant even a little bit to him. 

Katria dropped the note into her pocket and walked back over to the table. She slid the crate onto it and dug her fingers underneath the lid to pry it open. Hopefully, Cullen had not given her anything too large—the caravans to the Bannorn were about as full as they could get. Perhaps it was another gift from his family?

She pulled up the lid and peeked inside—her breath left her in less than a second, stupid, warm, frustrating, _distracting_ emotions clenching her gut.

Nestled in the corner of the crate atop a small blanket, peering up at her with wide, black eyes, was Bailey’s fox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes? No? Maybe? Feeellliinnnggsss? 
> 
> Next up: Skyhold! 
> 
> PS: Ya'll are awesome!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here have some letters! :D

_Cullen,_

_I wish I could express my gratitude to you in person for finding Bailey’s fox. I tried to stop by Mia’s house before we left for the Bannorn, but Ros told me you were out training, and I was being rushed to the road to stick to our ‘schedule,’ so I could not tarry. It is amazing how much I get bossed around despite having the title of Inquisitor._

_The point is—that was incredibly kind of you to do, Cullen. It was well beyond what anyone could expect. You have positively nothing to apologize for because you are an excellent friend. I’m highly impressed and also mortified because what am I to get you in return? Perhaps I’ll kill a bear and have another hideous, fur coat made for you. That way your wardrobe has some variety!_

_In all honesty in regards to gifts, I am having some fabric sent to Rosalie from Skyhold. There is an entire room full of left-over bolts of silk and cloth from the gowns Josie has had made for me over the years. I know how much Ros likes making dresses, so I thought she could have some fabric worthy of her talents. There will probably be some trinkets added for the children, as well. I cannot tell you how refreshing it was to spend time with them, and I hope I was not too much of a burden. You have a lovely family._

_Josie sent me a letter gushing about my work here in South Reach. Apparently Dorian’s story was conveyed to the arl of South Reach, who told it to his sister, who told it to her new Orlesian husband, who in turn told it to almost everyone he knows. Nobles apparently very much enjoyed the tale of the scruffy, farmer-turned-warrior, alleged ex-lover of the Inquisitor who launched a daring rescue attempt against a band of vicious bandits. I’m a little frightened by Josie’s enthusiasm. _

_As usual, my letters are long-winded and unprofessional. I remember how my Inquisition reports used to make you and Leliana want to pull your hair out--though I'm glad you didn't, because yours is such a nice golden mane._

_Katria_

===

_Inquisitor,_

_Retrieving the fox was no trouble. I know how important it was to Bailey, and it was the least I could do. I do not require anything in return—although, one can never have too many fur surcoats, in my opinion. Don’t you think your jokes about my jacket and armor are getting a little tired? I would be horrified to learn all those years at the Inquisition has diminished that creative humor of yours._

_Ros received your package. And Maker’s breath did she love it. There were a lot of tears, and now each of the children has about three outfits made entirely of royale sea silk. She’s threatening to make me something, so I’m not sure I should be thanking you for your gift._

_And, Inquisitor, you were nothing near a burden to my family. They adore you. The children never stop asking when your next visit will be. Every day for almost three weeks, instead of playing “Pirates” or “Mages and Templars” (which I do not approve of), they have been playing “Inquisition”._

_The game consists of them fighting over who gets to be you—Olivia usually wins because she can throw quite the tantrum. Inevitably, one of them ends up playing me. Then, they chase stray cats around pretending they are Corypheus, while the two pretending to be you and I hold hands. It’s utterly nonsensical, but it should be an indication of just how much they enjoyed having you around._

_Just so you know, I have categorically denied Dorian’s version of events to everyone I’ve spoken to. Not that it matters._

_Finally, as usual, I have no problem with your letters. Neither do Bran or Ros, who intercept the raven carrying your correspondence, so that they can read it before I can. I have attempted to stop them, but they are relentless, which probably does not surprise you._

_Regards,_

_Cullen_

===

_Cullen,_

_I will have you know my humor is as sharp as ever. Just like my daggers. Of which I carry many on my person, and am not afraid to use if the occasion calls for it. Maybe I'll cut that precious surcoat of yours to ribbons and put it to good use--perhaps as a mop in the tavern? (See? That joke was excellent, not tired!)_

_Now, sadly, I will get straight to business. I have good news and bad news. The good news is, you have one more chance to address me as Katria in your letters before I have you arrested and brought to Skyhold for judgment. _

_The bad news? My tour through south Ferelden has been so successful, thanks to our adventures last month and the lack of violence now in the area, that Josie wants to throw her own Wintersend banquet celebrating my victories. She will find any excuse she can to throw a party._

_So, Josie is hosting a ball, whether I like it or not, and has likely been planning said event since I tried on a new gown before I left for South Reach. And now, she wants you and your family to attend. Expect an invitation in the mail soon, my dear savior. _

_Katria_

_PS: Hi Branson. Hi Rosalie. Give my greetings to the children._

===

_ Katria, _

_How many different ways can I say no to that idea? _

_I hate banquets, and I hate dancing. So no. Just no._

_Cullen_

=== 

_Cullen,_

_No ways. There are no ways you can say no to that idea._

_You’re going. I’m going. I’ll be wearing a dress, and you will be wearing some formal get-up of Josephine’s choosing. We will both hate it. I will eat lots of tiny cakes and you will simper in some corner of the Great Hall refusing to dance. It’ll be just like old times. Except without the assassination attempt, so things are bound to be much less interesting._

_See you soon._

_Katria_

=== 

_Katria,_

_Things have fallen apart quickly on my end. Once Ros and Bran got a hold of your letter, they were utterly brimming with excitement. When the invitation arrived via raven with their names on it, they were insatiable. They say it will be fun. That they deserve the chance to travel and see my old workplace. That I should be excited to visit my friends. I continued to insist I would not attend this ridiculous banquet until Josephine sent me a personal letter in the mail. Your Ambassador is one very polite bully._

_So, yes, I am going, but I am not happy about it. Bran, Ros, and Mia are accompanying me. Hopefully Mia will help me retain my sanity. Thomas is coming along as well, after he begged his mother for days—he’s old enough and should be able to behave himself. I, however, cannot be held accountable for what I might do to any noble who thinks grabbing my arse is a good idea. _

_See you at Skyhold._

_Cullen_

=== 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update, but what can I say, I love letters! It seemed like an appropriate medium considering the distance between them.


	13. Chapter 13

Luckily for Cullen, the ride from South Reach to Skyhold was blessedly short. He did not know how much more of Rosalie and Bran’s excitement he could take. They gushed and gushed about how much _fun_ it would be. But Cullen had already been to these ridiculous spectacles, and he had hated how he was treated there. How everyone treated each other. It was not _fun_. It was trite and a waste of his time. 

However, it was not a waste of his time to see the Inquisitor. Maybe Josephine’s thinly-veiled threats in her letter had convinced him to come, or maybe it was the prospect of seeing Katria again. He would admit to one of those things, and not the other. Again, he told himself, what _use_ would there be? 

Cullen thought about her a lot once she left South Reach. More than was probably appropriate. In some ways, it _irked_ him. He’d spent two years with the same routine, around the same people, and he rarely thought about Katria. Now, he did those things and couldn’t not think of her. It was frustrating and impractical. He doubted it would get better once he returned to Skyhold.

That, and what would it feel like being in his old home, though no longer truly a part of it? He’d always been the Commander of the Inquisition there, and now, he’d roam Skyhold’s battlements as—as no one. The finely tuned machine that was the Inquisition ran on without him. He was a note in the history books and was now being dragged back. The _former_ Commander. The _former_ lover. He did not look forward to being seen that way.

They arrived at the castle early in the morning two days before the ball. Cullen thought he would feel nostalgic as he passed under the portcullis, but Skyhold looked nothing like it did when he had left. The normally silent morning courtyard had been replaced with a frenzy of activity, caravans being pulled past them, men unloading various elegant furnishings and trinkets. The heraldry that had once been restricted to the Great Hall had spilled outside—dark blue banners embroidered richly with Inquisition symbols adorned the courtyard. 

Rosalie gave a shaky exhale beside him. “ _Wow_ ,” she breathed. “This is amazing! I’ve never been to a castle before.” She linked their arms together and leaned into him. “We should go find the Inquisitor!” 

“I’m sure she’s very busy right now,” Cullen replied, patting her hand. 

“But she’ll want to see us!” she insisted, then shook his arm. “You. She’ll want to see _you_ and your nice, clean-shaven and handsome face-,”

Rosalie pinched his cheek and he swatted her hand away. “Maker’s breath, Ros, I am not a child.” 

Bran walked up behind them with his bag across his shoulder. “Oh, come on, Cullen. Don’t tell me you don’t know _exactly_ where the Inquisitor is.” 

“That is absurd,” Cullen said. “I have not been here in two years. The Inquisitor is very busy, and her schedule changes by the hour.” 

“But if you had to guess?” Bran began, gesturing to the massive courtyard around them. 

He sighed impatiently. If there’s anything that Katria hated, it was playing the Game and going to banquets. The fact that one was being hosted here in Skyhold probably troubled her even more. When Katria was distressed by the staggering responsibilities of being the Inquisitor, she did menial tasks to distract herself—cleaning, gardening, sparring.

“Fine,” Cullen said. “We will check _one_ place, and if she’s not there, then we go to our rooms.” 

Branson swept his hand out. “Lead the way.” 

Cullen took a steadying breath and then marched up the stairs that led to the upper courtyard. He pointed out the armory, his old office, and explained the history of the castle while Ros still clung to his arm and drank in every word. Even Mia seemed a little impressed as she trailed behind them with her hand on Thomas’ shoulder. Cullen led them into the garden—this place, at least, looked exactly the same. Peaceful, well-manicured; the space had a tranquility that drew him to it often. 

A few extra banners were hung around the covered walkway, but otherwise it was empty, only a few Chantry sisters and some nobles flitting around. Rosalie cocked her head. 

“Oh,” she said. “I don’t see her.” 

Cullen cleared his throat and pointed over to the largest flowerbed in the corner, nearest to the small Chantry. Tall, green stalks and some rose bushes covered the large expanse of dirt. 

Bran furrowed his brow. “There isn’t-,” 

The bushes began rustling and then a brown head popped up from the greenery. Katria’s hair was braided hap-hazardly and her cheek was streaked with dirt. She spotted them and a wide smile broke across her face, which made Cullen’s heart stutter a little. Katria waved to them, and Rosalie enthusiastically returned the gesture. She dragged Cullen across the garden and then untangled herself from him. 

“It’s so great to see you!” Rosalie exclaimed. 

Katria was wiping her brow with her sleeve, and staggered backwards in surprise when Rosalie slung her arms around her. 

“Ros,” Cullen sputtered. 

Rosalie turned with one arm still around Katria’s shoulder. “What?” she said. “We’re friends! I’m allowed to hug my friends!” 

“She’s right,” Katria replied, then looked at the dirt under her fingernails. “I’m a bit sweaty and dirty though, so sorry for that.” 

“And yet still the picture of beauty,” Bran remarked, leaning forward to put his hand on her back and kiss her cheek. She graciously accepted and patted his shoulder. 

“You are entirely too kind,” Katria said, while Cullen felt like a blood vessel on his forehead might burst. 

“Are you okay there, Cullen?” Mia asked from beside him, an impish grin on her face. “Our ride this morning must have done a number on you. You look positively _green_. Do you need to lie down?”

His sister spoke quietly enough that only he and Thomas heard her. The boy gave a small snort and then quickly covered his mouth. Cullen just huffed, but felt a blush burning his ears. 

Katria extricated herself from Rosalie and stepped forward. Cullen tensed, wondering what she was going to do, wondering what _he_ was supposed to do, when someone hurried from the covered hallway and called for the Inquisitor with a surprisingly firm voice. 

Katria turned and sighed. “Yes?”

The woman—Cullen recognized her as one of Josephine’s runners—thrust a clipboard in her direction. “Lady Montilyet is very insistent that you join her in your quarters for the final fitting of your gown.” 

Katria glanced back over at them. “How insistent?” 

“Very, _very_ insistent, Inquisitor.” 

Katria ran her hand along her temple. “Alright,” she said. Cullen noticed tightness around her eyes, in her jaw. “Sorry I can’t stay long. Duty calls, as usual.”

The others all waved to her as she was urged away, until she looked back. 

“Come by my quarters before the ball starts!” Katria called out, then waved again before she was yanked up the nearest set of stairs. 

Rosalie latched back onto his arm and gave a content sigh. “Isn’t she just so _nice_ and _pretty_ and-,”

Mia patted her sister on the back when Cullen groaned. “Come on, Rosalie, leave your brother alone. If his patience wears thin enough, he might not finish showing us around.” 

Rosalie nestled her head against his shoulder. “Sorry, Cullen.” 

He briefly leaned his head against hers. “It’s alright,” he said. “Come on. We’ll go walk the battlements.” 

Cullen really _was_ alright with Rosalie’s teasing—or, at least, he understood it. Though she didn’t show it, this trip was probably at least a little anxiety-inducing for her. Ros had never been apart from Jacob for so long, and here she was, having left her two-year old son in the care of her husband, who was capable, but dealing with Olivia and Jack on top of that would be an interesting challenge for him. Ros was just trying to make the best out of her trip, even if her enthusiasm at times clashed with how desperately Cullen wanted to flee to his room and hide until the ball was over. 

After a few hours, Cullen was not _quite_ as annoyed that he’d been dragged back to Skyhold. A good chunk of the Inquisitor’s inner-circle had returned for the event—Varric, Dorian, Bull, Sera; some of them he was happy to see, others—Sera—made him worry he’d find bees in his pillow when he returned to his room. 

He spent a long time talking to Rylen when he spotted him on the battlements. Ros and Bran got tired of listening to them discuss the barracks, requisitions, and drills, so they ran off to the tavern. Rylen, as Cullen expected, had done a remarkable job as the Commander of the Inquisition. That fact made Cullen happy—or some combination of happy and disappointed and useless. He hated the fact that being in Skyhold made his emotions a useless pile of endless knots. 

The same thing happened to his emotions whenever he saw Katria—it was a war between the risk-averse, practicality of a long-distance friendship versus the intense, aching lust— _lust_ , not love—that ripped through him when she smiled. 

Then he admonished himself for assuming that she’d even _want_ him in any way in the first place, if he tried. Not when her bevy of noble suitors included members of the Council of Heralds, the heir apparent to the Nevarran throne, and dukes with enough money to give her anything she could ever want, when Cullen had given her nothing—a coin, a fox, added frustration to her role as Inquisitor. 

All it would take was a little self-control, more patience, and he could tolerate the teasing, the nobles, the dancing and his emotions. For the time-being, at least. 

===

The morning of the ball, Katria woke up at a time she considered to be quite early. She dressed herself in a loose tunic and breeches with the hope that she could do some sparring just as the sun rose and release some of the growing tension in her shoulders and back. In addition to being harangued for the past week about the banquet, she also had to deal with the fact that Cullen was now here. She was happy about that—but loathe to admit it. Her personal feelings were being rattled by his presence, and she had to worry about maintaining her meticulously manicured public image on top of that. An image that was scrutinized especially closely at these silly banquets. 

Josephine had held a handful of balls at Skyhold over the years—some even larger than this Wintersend event—but attending them never got easier for Katria. She was forced into uncomfortable gowns, feeling naked and vulnerable in a world where she had many enemies. People played the Game all around her and filled the room with comments about her politics, her body, her age, her marriage prospects; scrutiny she never wanted or asked for. 

Katria’s dread grew with each step as she headed for her door. Just as she opened it, someone pushed their way in. 

“Oh, excellent, Inquisitor, you’re awake!” 

Josephine stood before her, hair perfectly plaited and her clothes without a single wrinkle. Her eyes were bright, but she still looked tired—the way she stressed about these affairs, she probably hadn’t slept all night. 

Katria stepped aside as Josephine climbed the stairs, making a note on her writing board. “I need to go over a few things with you, and then I’ll have a bath drawn for you and do something about those fingernails of yours. You know, I told you to stay out of the garden this-,” 

“Josie?” 

Josephine turned at the top of the stairs. “Yes, Inquisitor?” 

Katria pointed out the door. “Are you sure I don’t have time for—for just a _little_ sparring?” 

Josephine was a very polite—and subsequently patient—young woman with a genuine warmth to her demeanor, but the look she gave Katria in that moment was much too stern for protest. 

“Inquisitor, there is _absolutely_ no time.”

Katria sighed and dropped her hand from the door. She trudged up the stairs and sat at her desk, listening to Josie dictate the million intricacies of the guest list, decorations, the new Orlesian political scandals—it took hours. Then, she was dragged to a lavish bath where she was scrubbed down until her skin was tender and pink as nug’s skin. 

She tried to escape multiple times, but Josie had insisted that she remain in her quarters until the evening to ‘cultivate an air of mystery around her and what she would be wearing’. Ridiculous. So, Katria was forced to stare longingly through the windows leading to her balcony as the sun crested and then began to sink past the battlements. 

After she finally got to eat, her dress was paraded in front of her, and she was stuffed into it with a frown—standing on a small pedestal as Arnaud buttoned each of the tiny cloth buttons that ran from her neck down the dress. 

Katria had never liked mirrors, but a floor length one was shoved in front of her while Arnaud made some final alterations. She tried to look anywhere but at her own reflection—Katria did not recognize the woman staring at her when she did. A very bossy Orlesian had put all sorts of things on Katria’s face, on her thin lips, then she had yanked and pulled and prodded at her unruly hair until her scalp burned. 

Katria soothed her sweaty palms over the waist of her dress, earning her a sharp reprimand from Arnaud who was crouched behind her. She quickly folded her hands together and shot a pleading look over at Leliana. 

“He’s almost done,” her spymaster assured her. She was dressed in the traditional Orlesian style, with accents of green, which did wonders for her red hair. 

Josephine was not present any longer—their Ambassador had entirely too much to do to also oversee Katria’s final preparations, but she had played an understandably large role in designing her dress. 

Both Leliana and Josephine insisted that Katria wear something that followed neither Ferelden nor Orlesian nor Antivan trends. Katria gladly gave them license to chatter and squabble with a multitude of designers about what exactly _that_ meant. All that concerned her was whether the dress was modest enough. It was Katria’s opinion that she did not wear gowns in order to be an object of sexual desire for her guests. She was the Inquisitor—not an expanse of skin to be ogled at and commented upon. Empress Celene certainly never wore anything too daring or particularly risqué, so Katria did not think, as the Inquisitor, she should either. The more regal and stately she looked, the better.

Her current gown met those standards to a degree. It was dark blue and not too tight, except for where it was cinched in with extra detailing at her waist. The bodice and straight skirt were made with satin, which was covered with an intricate lace overlay. Sheer gauze with the same lace appliqué stretched up and covered her chest, shoulders, and arms and created a small collar along her neck. The only thing even remotely revealing about the design was the v-cut of the lace on her chest, which Katria kept trying to pull up until Leliana ordered her to stop. 

There were other reasons why Katria typically wore a gown with sleeves, even if they were sheer. Being the Inquisitor and fighting so bodily for so many years did not leave her body unscathed. Though there was nothing they could do about the deep scar on Katria’s cheek, Josephine typically selected designs that covered her other marks. One, that ran from the front of her left shoulder to her clavicle, she’d gotten fighting a dragon in Crestwood—her first ever. The second, which stretched from the crook in her elbow all the way down to her wrist, she had earned fighting Corypheus at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. 

To Katria, the scars were something to be proud of. They reflected her determination and her strength. But most nobles valued skin that was unblemished and pristine. It made the whole business of running around in a dress even less enjoyable because she was the opposite of that. 

Katria tugged at the lace sleeve at her wrist until she heard the door open—since the visitor hadn’t knocked, she assumed it must be Dorian. When the mage appeared with two handsome blonde men in tow--because _of course_ he found them and invited them--Katria stiffened and felt her heart rate increase. 

Cullen hung back, his eyes sweeping across her room, to the plush chairs they’d sat in and broken up on years ago. She knew it probably wasn’t so easy for him to be back at Skyhold remembering all these things. 

Josephine had put him in an outfit similar to the one he’d worn to the Winter Palace—she had a finely tailored coat made for him and his brother, as well as coordinating gloves, boots, and breeches made with brown Antivan leather. The coat was still a vibrant shade of red, but the sash at his waist and shoulder had been toned down to a darker blue. 

Katria turned away from the mirror to face them on her pedestal once they reached the top of the stairs. A little guiltily, she tried to gauge Cullen’s reaction to her dress—he merely blinked a few times and cocked his head thoughtfully before Katria was distracted by Branson stepping forward and grabbing her hands. 

“Inquisitor!” he exclaimed, pulling out her arms so he could get a better view of her. “You look ravishing. Positively gorgeous. You are the spring’s first and brightest bloom. You are a shining star in-,” 

“She gets it, Bran,” Cullen interjected. 

Branson turned to his brother, still holding one of her hands. “Very well then, what have _you_ got to say?”

Cullen dropped his arms from his chest. “Me?” he began, then cleared his throat, his eyes rising to meet hers. “I—I mean, you look lovely, Inquisitor.” 

“Thank you both,” she said, blushing now that Cullen had spoken. “But-,” 

Katria stopped when she felt a hand grab her rear and push up on it. She squawked and snapped her head around. 

“What— _Dorian_ ,” she said exasperatedly. “What in the Void was that for?” 

He all but ignored her, shaking his head as he looked over at Arnaud. “The gown is simply not tight enough here. She looks like she has—I don’t know, pancake butt.” 

Katria grabbed the end of her dress and twirled around to face him. “I do not have pancake butt!” 

Dorian tugged down at the line of her dress along her chest. “And why is this neckline so high?” He finally looked at her. “There are many young, virile men-,” He pointed back to Cullen. “-who need to see _all_ that you have to offer.” 

Katria huffed. “You’re not funny, Dorian.” 

Leliana had covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, and Dorian smirked. “The important thing is that I’m having fun.” 

“Well _I_ am not,” Katria replied, looking at herself again in the mirror. Cullen was visible in her reflection, and their eyes met before he blushed and quickly looked away. She sighed and tenderly touched the elaborate twists that had gathered all her hair on her head, save for a few errant strands near her temples. “I looked like a trussed chicken.”

“A very sad trussed chicken,” Branson remarked, circling around to stand beside Dorian. “You need to _smile_ —it’s one of your best features.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest, noticing how her breasts swelled out from the neckline of her dress from that movement. Maybe she’d try that on Cullen later—she did _so_ like seeing him squirm. Or maybe a very small part of her wanted some reaction from her appearance tonight that wasn’t simply idle curiosity.

“The only way I will smile is if Josie increases my tiny-cakes limit for the evening,” she said.

“Which I’m sorry to say is not going to happen, Inquisitor,” Leliana replied. 

Katria frowned. “And what other bad news do you have for me?” 

Leliana folded her hands together and leaned closer. “Divine Victoria has...sent a representative in her stead,” she said. “And…”

Katria raised her eyebrows. “Yes?” 

“Josephine and I thought that Duke Laurent Ghislain would bring his sister Grand Cleric Marcelline as his guest.” Leliana paused and tilted her head. “However, Laurent has—has brought Madame Vivienne with him. She arrived just this morning.” 

Katria clenched her hands in her dress. “Right. Of course. Maker’s balls.” Arnaud slapped her arm and she let go, baring her teeth at him and making a disgusted noise. She realized she should probably be nicer, but pushed through that thought and looked over at Leliana. Katria felt so desperately _frayed_.

“What is the deal with this fucking Game where our enemies show up and act all polite?” she asked. “Gaspard at the Winter Palace, Vivienne here. Like I don’t have enough problems.” 

“She simply wants to request an audience with you,” Leliana replied. “To negotiate.” 

“Tell her she can kiss my arse,” Katria snapped, then grunted. “But, you know, politely.” 

“Inquisitor.” 

“Oh, what?” Katria began. “ _What_? We’ve been trying to appease her for months and show her how well the Circle here is doing. She does not care. She wants to be in charge with no compromise.” 

Katria wished her mood had not devolved so sourly just before she was to be presented in the Great Hall, but perhaps it was a defense-mechanism against fear more than anything. Vivienne was a formidable opponent—had once been an ally—and Katria had spent an entire year trying to settle things between them to no avail. 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Will you be safe here with these kinds of enemies around?” he asked. 

“What’s Vivienne going to do?” Katria asked. “Subtly insult my bad posture to death?” 

“The Inquisitor is well-protected. Despite how un-seriously she takes such matters,” Leliana replied with a hard look. “This is her home.”

“There have been four attempts on my life in the past two years,” Katria said. “And I have _personally_ stopped all of them. You can’t snow the snowman. You can’t…” She waved her hand in the air. “…assassinate an assassin. Which is what I am.” 

“You actually can,” Leliana replied, then looked at Cullen. “Which is why we have tripled the number of active-duty guards. The Inquisitor is safe here.” 

Arnaud stood from behind her and fiddled one last time with the line of her skirt. “I am finished, Your Worship. You are ready.” 

Katria lifted up her dress and immediately slid off the pedestal. “Thank you for all your hard work,” she said, trying on a smile. “This dress is truly lovely.” 

He simply nodded and gave a small bow in response. Katria turned to Leliana and sighed. 

“How about _you_ play the Game out there while _I_ stay here and eat tiny cakes?” 

Leliana grabbed her upper-arms and squeezed them. “This will be fun. Just stay calm. And stoic.” 

She gave a low growl and let her shoulders slump. Her eyes flitted over to Cullen, standing straight, talking to Dorian, his jacket draped snugly against his broad shoulders and powerful arms—so handsome it was _entirely_ unfair.

Her angry, writhing personal feelings about Cullen plus the politics of the Game all in one night? That was the _furthest_ thing from her idea of fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of the evening will take place over 3-4 chapters, so fasten your seatbelts!


	14. Chapter 14

Cullen acutely understood the layout of the Great Hall, so he was quickly able to find himself a safe place to stand once the ball began—wedged up in the corner near the towers of tiny cakes, his back to the wall to pre-empt any arse-grabbing. 

The Great Hall was arranged a little differently than he was used to—the rustic wooden tables had been removed, some sort of floor better suited for dance covered the grey stone, and the statues had been replaced with various exquisite decorations. Katria’s throne remained—the centerpiece of the room just as she was the centerpiece of the Inquisition. 

The hall itself was brighter then he remembered. The massive, and very old, wooden chandeliers had been exchanged for even larger, gold ones that had double the number of candles. The walls were adorned with the various mosaics the Inquisitor had recovered pieces of during her travels, as well as the same dark blue tapestries from outside. Josephine had done an excellent job, like he expected, but he spent little time ruminating on her various decor choices. 

Katria had been presented in front of her throne, no longer looking irked or anxious. She stood tall, wore a gracious smile; it was like a different person stood before him. _That_ is the primary thought Cullen let himself have about her attire for the evening—the Inquisitor was a woman he did not recognize, her pale skin smooth and glowing in the candlelight, eyes brighter than ever, her lips stained red and making her toothy smile more brilliant. It simply wasn’t Katria.

 _Katria_ wore loose tunics and breeches, incessantly pawed at her wavy hair that never stayed in its braid, had skin that was ruddy and flushed because she was _always_ moving. Cullen told himself he had no reaction to this other woman in a dark, demure gown—this woman who looked like a queen or a princess. 

And yet, he could not keep his eyes off her. 

Cullen was startled when a loud music set began to play above him, the sound drifting down from the balcony on the second story. The Inquisitor had moved from her throne and was accepting the hand of an Orlesian. The man was wearing a mask, so Cullen could not see much of him, except for the closely shaven brown hair on his head. 

They began to dance. Katria performed well—for as much as she hated politics, she was an Orlesian duelist and knew how to dance with a great amount of grace. Cullen indulged himself, let him watch her, because everyone else was. 

“Drink?” 

Cullen turned and saw Rylen standing beside him, thrusting a glass in his direction. He had not been allowed to wear his armor either and was decked out in an outfit similar to Cullen’s. 

Cullen accepted the drink and looked back out at the Inquisitor. 

“Now I know why you hated these things so much,” Rylen remarked. “Josie orders these jackets so damn tight.”

Cullen gave a short laugh. “When I was at the Winter Palace, I was afraid some of the buttons on my coat might burst.” 

Rylen took a sip of his drink and shook his head. “Oh I’m sure the ladies there would have loved that.” He shrugged. “Probably won’t be so bad this time.” 

“Let’s hope not,” Cullen muttered. His eyes still followed Katria across the floor—she seemed to be genuinely smiling at _whatever_ this Orlesian was talking to her about. 

Rylen shifted beside him, leaning closer. “She’s dancing with Duke Laurent Ghislain.” 

“I recognize that name,” he replied, furrowing his brow. 

Rylen reached out for a tiny cake and popped one inelegantly into his mouth. “The surname, probably. He is the son of Lady Vivienne’s lover, Bastien Ghislain. The one who died.”

“I thought that the Inquisition and Lady Vivienne were…” 

Rylen leaned back against the wall and spoke softly, his lips barely moving. “Laurent is the newest member of the Council of Heralds—he replaced his father,” he explained. “Now, just for the record, I’m no expert on this, but from what I understand from the War Room, Vivienne derives a lot of her power from her connection to the Ghislain family and Bastien.”

“But Bastien is dead now,” Cullen said. 

“Yes,” Rylen replied. “So Josie is trying to take advantage of that. Laurent doesn’t have the same strong attachment to Vivienne, so, if the Inquisition were to swoop in and pander to the Ghislain family enough to gain their support, Vivienne loses a lot of influence. She’s not a noble, after all.” 

Rylen puffed out his cheeks and drained his drink. “Maker, aren’t politics stupid?” 

Cullen swallowed. “Is Laurent married?” 

“No,” he replied. “That’s part of the pandering. That’s why Laurent gets the first dance.” 

Cullen inhaled, his shoulders rising slightly. “I see.” 

The dancing ended, Katria’s skirt fluttering out in one last flourish before Laurent stepped away from her and gently kissed her knuckles. Cullen tried not to be annoyed—it was just a dance, after all, and he had no right to be irked. Other nobles around them applauded, Katria bowed politely, and then made her way across the room. She joined clusters of conversations with masked Orlesians who all looked the same to him. Cullen could tell she was trying to make a slow arc for the tiny-cakes. (Maybe, subconsciously, that’s why _he_ was hiding there.) 

Rylen was standing slightly on his toes beside him, searching the crowd. “Josie’s distracted,” he said, then looked at Cullen and thumped him on the shoulder. “That’s usually my cue to escape to the barracks until she wrangles me back in again. See you later.” Rylen gathered a hand-full of cakes in his palm, not even bothering to use a plate, then strode across the room and out the door to the courtyard. Cullen looked wistfully after him, wondering if he should have followed. 

He instead just leaned against the wall, staring down at the liquid amber of his drink like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Perhaps if he looked absorbed enough no one would bother him. A small group of nobles had migrated to one side of the table nearest him. Their voices were soft, but clearly audible. 

“The dress is just so very _demure_ ,” one of the women said, while her eyes swept across the room and she waved primly at someone. 

“I know,” another replied. “How can she expect to secure a marriage that way?” 

“Exactly. And it’s not like she’s getting any younger.” 

There was a man beside them with his arms crossed. “I for one like the dress,” he said. “It covers those hideous scars. Most of them.”

Cullen exhaled through his nose and couldn’t help but let his brows furrow angrily. He gnashed his teeth together in thought—he was no diplomatic savant like Josephine. He couldn’t put these people in their place with a subtle word or gesture. He could hit them, tell them bluntly they were foppish idiots with no appreciation for all Katria had done. That would do more harm than good, however. 

A hand touched his elbow from the side and Cullen snapped his head around, thinking quickly through all the reasons he could give to escape from a conversation with some noble. Instead, Katria stood before him, eyes bright, and he felt like his insides were melting because a woman whom he was this physically attracted to should not have been able to stand this close to him. 

“Ser Cullen,” she said with a gentle smile. “I was hoping I could have a moment of your time. There’s a matter I wish to discuss in private.” 

“O-Of course,” he replied. “Absolutely.” 

Katria glanced sideways at the door leading to the courtyard. “You know, I’m feeling a bit flush, perhaps we could meet on the battlements. I could use the fresh air.” 

“Certainly, Inquisitor.” 

She leaned in a little closer, and he resisted the urge to inhale her scent. “Five minutes, above the armory,” she said through the corner of her mouth. “Bring as many tiny cakes as you can carry.” 

Cullen grinned and watched her sweep away. He did as she asked, grabbing a plate and discreetly filling it with as many desserts as would fit. He then slipped out the door, inhaling the fresh, crisp air that didn’t smell like Orlesian perfume and champagne. It was quite cold outside, so there were not many figures moving around the courtyard as he headed to meet Katria. She was already pacing the section of the battlements above the armory—her pale skin visible for only seconds as she stepped in front of a torch then was swallowed by the darkness past it.

She spun on her heel and spotted him. “Oh, thank the Maker you’re here,” she said with a smile, then snatched the plate in his hand from him as soon as he stopped in front of her. “I’m starving and—a million other things.” 

Before Cullen could ask if she was alright, she spoke again, leaning casually against the battlements, shoulders more slumped, as she nibbled on her cakes. 

“Your sister,” she began, shaking her head. “I mean, _wow_. Ros looks…”

Cullen gave a light groan. Rosalie had made her own dress and done an excellent job—too excellent of a job, in Cullen’s opinion, because some of the looks his _little sister_ received were unsettling.

“You’ll have to beat the men away with a stick,” Katria remarked. “I bet she’s been asked about her lineage five times already.” 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “And reveling in the attention of it all, probably.” 

“Can you blame her?” Katria asked. “Though you and I loathe that attention, some people—I don’t know, like to be fawned over. Seen as beautiful. Special. To dress up and feel like a princess must be exciting.” 

“I certainly don’t see how anyone could enjoy it,” he said. 

Katria turned slightly so she was facing him. “Has anyone been causing you trouble? Like at the Winter Palace?” 

Cullen leaned beside her on the parapet. “No,” he said. “Not yet, at least.” 

Katria reached out and put her hand on his forearm. Her slender fingers pushed lightly against his sleeve. “Good,” she said. “This is my home, and I won’t let anyone treat you that way here, okay?” 

Cullen raised his head to study her expression; there was a burning sincerity in her eyes that lit his blood on fire. “That’s—thank you,” he said after clearing his throat. “But what about how these people treat _you_?” 

She pushed a cake around her already half-empty plate. “I guess you heard those nobles beside you,” she muttered. “Don’t let them—I mean, it’s common, they’re just playing the Game.” 

“It’s not fair,” Cullen protested. “They have no right to say those things.” 

Katria shrugged. “That doesn’t stop them.” 

“You don’t—believe them, do you?” he asked. 

Katria gave a small laugh, then leaned forward and clung to his arm. “Oh, _yes_ , Cullen, I feel like an old, hideous _crone_ with my scars and the tiny wrinkles around my eyes. Plus the gray hair I found on my pillow the other day?” She dramatically swooned with a hand against her forehead. “The horror!” 

Cullen smiled and stretched out his arm to catch her. Part of him wished she’d stay there, leaning back, his arm across her shoulders—he’d put another hand on her waist and then dip down to kiss her. Instead, she straightened with a giggle, putting her palm against his shoulder for support. 

“I’m glad it doesn’t affect you,” he said. “You shouldn’t let it. They’re fools.” 

She smiled slightly. “It takes a lot more to get to me than a few jabs about my age.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “And if someone insults your sense of humor?” 

“Oh, I’d have a man executed for that,” she replied, putting another cake in her mouth. “So you’d better watch that pretty little head of yours because I still remember what you said in your letter about my tired jokes.” 

“You must have misunderstood me, Inquisitor,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “I said _tired_ because your jokes make me laugh so hard I’m positively exhausted afterwards.” 

Katria thwacked him on the shoulder and snorted. “Maker, that was actually _funny_. All that time you’ve spent with your brother must have done you some good.” 

“Don’t tell _him_ that,” Cullen said. 

She finished her last cake—quite the feat because Cullen had brought her a lot of them—and tapped the plate against the stone wall. “That was delicious. Thank you.” She slid her hand down the waist of her dress. “Although this feels a bit tight now. The gown won’t be so _demure_ when it accidently pops open while I’m dancing.” 

Cullen looked where her hand was and swallowed. The dress was not demure to _him_. No, he’d had plenty of immodest thoughts about what he could do to her in that outfit—pin her against the wall in some secluded corner of the battlements, his mouth hot against the long, slender column of her neck, kissing her down to where the neckline of her dress closed just above her breasts. If that wasn’t enough, and it probably wouldn’t be, he’d lift her up the wall with one hand rested on her _perfect_ ass—hang what Dorian said about it. There were impossibly small buttons down the back of her gown; he could rip them open, if he tried. She might even like it. 

Cullen was startled by the sound of armored footsteps clinking against the stone near him. He turned his head in time to see an Inquisition guard nod politely and then salute the Inquisitor. Cullen’s cheeks flushed, but they shouldn’t have. He and Katria merely stood side by side in a content silence looking out at the courtyard. He burned with guilt thinking that Katria envisioned this as some friendly lull of conversation, while he entertained such highly inappropriate thoughts about her. 

“It’s a, uh, nice night,” Cullen remarked. 

Katria took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, her shoulders moving as she did. “It is,” she said, then her eyes flitted to the Great Hall. “Nicer than being in there, at least.” 

“Have you seen Vivienne at all?” Cullen asked. 

“Seen, but not spoken to,” Katria replied. “She likes to spring herself on me at unexpected moments. You know, to catch me off guard. At least that’s what Josie says Game-players do.” She placed her palms against the parapet and hung her head. 

Cullen studied the line of her back as she hunched over, like the weight of Thedas had somehow become real on her shoulders. She gave a strangled sigh that didn’t escape her mouth. 

“Do you…like being the Inquisitor, Katria?” 

She thought for a moment, until she gave a sharp laugh, then another longer one. 

He was perplexed by her reaction. “What?” he said. 

Katria pushed herself off the wall to meet his gaze. “You know, in all the years I’ve been doing this, no one has asked me that.” 

Cullen crossed his arms over his chest. “Really?” 

She waved her hand in the air. “I mean, people asked if I _wanted_ to be the Inquisitor. If I thought I was chosen for it. But never if I _enjoyed_ it.” 

“ _Do_ you enjoy it?” 

She fiddled with the end of her sheer sleeve, her fingers sliding underneath an intricate bracelet she hadn’t been wearing before. “Well, I…” Her brows knit together over her eyes. “Maker, I don’t know. I never really had a choice. It didn’t matter if I liked it because there was a fucking hole in the sky.” 

“I’m asking about now,” he said. 

Katria looked back at the Great Hall, the light spilling down onto the stairs leading to the courtyard. She clenched her jaw. “I like helping people. I don’t like politics.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but sharply shook her head. “Oh, what does it matter? I’m the Inquisitor, whether I like it or not. I accumulated too much leverage defeating Corypheus to just quit.” 

Katria tugged on a free strand of her hair. “Although, I have squandered a lot of that leverage in the past year. Or _spent_ it as Josie prefers to say.” 

“Katria-,” 

She pushed her empty plate into his chest and sighed. “I’ve been gone for too long. I should go.” 

Cullen grabbed her arm instead of catching the plate, and it fell to his feet, snapping in two. “You deserve to be happy,” he said. 

Katria stepped closer to him. “ _You_ are going to get in huge trouble for breaking one of Josie’s plates.” 

Cullen huffed and tightened his hold on her—Katria was good at many things, but talking about her feelings was not one of them. She reached out and put her hand on his opposite shoulder, squaring herself to him and straightening. 

“Don’t tell me my savior is going to ask me to dance?” 

Katria was close enough that the end of her dress brushed over his boots. His pulse quickened under her playful gaze. 

“Stop trying to fluster to me,” he said sternly, a smirk curling his lip. 

“Stop being so easily flustered,” she murmured back. 

Cullen made his touch gentler, his fingers just skimming her arm, thinking about stepping back, but also thinking about some other more improper things—like the fact that her breasts were just inches from his chest. 

A small giggle echoed out from below them, and Katria leaned away from him with a confused expression. She walked to the edge of the battlements that faced the courtyard and looked down at the roof of the armory. 

“Bailey, is that you?” she called out. 

Cullen stood beside her and saw two shadowy figures freeze from their spots sitting on the edge of the roof—they were close together, their foreheads touching. Katria furrowed her brow and leaned over the parapet. She pawed at Cullen’s sleeve. 

“Is that Thomas?” 

Cullen watched as a blonde head shifted into the light from the window. He lifted his hand to his mouth to cover his snort. “Yes it is.” 

Katria gasped. “Bailey Eleanor Causey!” she exclaimed. “What are you—have you been _kissing_ over there?” 

There was an awkward silence before Bailey gave a meek reply. “…No?” 

Katria made some sort of growling noise and tried to scramble further over the battlements before Cullen grabbed her. She shouted down to them. “Young lady, I swear to the Maker, if _any_ part of your body touches—touches _any_ part of _his_ body, I will _come down there_!” 

Bailey spun around from her sitting position beside Thomas, as the poor boy made a strangled noise and leapt straight off the edge of the roof to the ground. 

“Maker’s breath, Katria, you’re embarrassing me!” she shot back. She then made a frustrated noise and climbed up the slightly slanted roof, so she didn’t have to shout so loudly. At least _one_ of them knew it wasn’t good to make a scene. 

“You are not allowed to—to like _boys_ ,” Katria said with a raised finger. “And you’re _especially_ not allowed to kiss them. Even nice ones like Thomas! Just no touching ever.” 

“I am thirteen years old!” Bailey said exasperatedly. 

"Which is _way_ too young for those sorts of _things_ ,” she insisted. 

Bailey put her hands on her hips. “Oh and what age _is_ appropriate for me to start doing these things?” 

“Thirty,” Katria replied simply. 

Bailey clenched her fists at her side with a grunt. “You are the _worst_!” 

“Well, I am also _in charge_ , so no more touching!” 

Bailey rolled her eyes—or Cullen assumed for her age she’d do that, even though he couldn’t see her so well—and stamped her foot on the ground. “Fine!” she snapped, as she began to climb down the roof. 

Bailey paused and turned slightly just as she slid to the ground. “Hey Cullen,” she said. “When I brought Katria breakfast a few mornings ago, she was still asleep and said your name in a _super_ gross way.” 

“ _Bailey_!” 

Katria covered her mouth because she had basically _shrieked_ Bailey’s name. She turned to him, her eyes wide. She hastily dropped her hands and began sputtering.

“She has no idea what she’s talking—I mean, we haven’t even gone over what _that_ is—not that I said your name because-,” Katria cleared her throat and gave a sheepish grin. “You know, I should probably return to the Great Hall.” 

Cullen was blushing, paralyzed by the surge of emotion crashing over him—he tried to wring out something, _anything_ logical from his mind to say to her. 

“Er—right,” he eventually stammered out. “Would you, that is, I could…escort you back?” 

“Oh,” she said. “That’s—that’s probably a good idea.” Katria reached out for his arm, and he hastily offered it to her, hoping the rapid pounding of his heart was not somehow discernable on his arm. 

Katria looked down at the stones passing under them as they walked and bit her lip. “Bailey…probably misheard me, you know.” 

Maker, he hoped not. Cullen nodded anyway. “Probably.” 

She shook her head. “Kissing,” she muttered. “Liking _boys_.” She sighed. “Maker’s balls, _now_ I feel old.” 

As they got closer to the Great Hall, Katria moved her other hand to his arm, her grip tightening around him, fingers snaking around his bicep. They walked down the steps to the courtyard, and then into the garden, which was well-lit and filled with guests. 

She tried to peer through the crowd. “I hope no one tramples my herbs…” she murmured. 

Cullen looked down at her and grinned. “You worry about the oddest things, Inquisitor.”

“I have my priorities, you mean.” 

They walked to the covered walkway and the door leading to the Great Hall. Cullen moved to hold open the door for her, when a woman standing near them turned. 

“Oh, Inquisitor!” 

Katria’s face tensed, irritation present in her features for a moment before she turned. Vivienne walked over from a cluster of nobles, wearing a low cut gown of silver and gold with plenty of dramatic lines. 

Vivienne stopped in front of them with a sashay of her hips. He felt Katria straighten beside him to make herself taller. 

“You two just look so _charming_ together,” she said with a smile. “It is such a pleasure to see you again, Commander—oh, forgive me, _Ser_ Cullen.” 

Katria impatiently exhaled. “It is _you_ who looks charming, Lady Vivienne,” she replied. “I’ll never have the courage to wear such a marvelously daring dress when I’m your age.” 

Vivienne let out an airy laugh. “I did so miss that droll sense of humor, Inquisitor,” she replied. “In any case, I was hoping to have a brief moment of your time.” 

“I see,” Katria said. She looked over at Cullen and gave him a reassuring smile before he let go of her. He hesitated, not wanting to leave Katria to the wiles of a woman who looked at her like prey. Of course, if he’d learned anything about her, she rarely needed protecting. 

Cullen nodded politely to them both. He met Katria’s eyes, bright and blue, wishing he could communicate to her with just a look, tell her that he could be there for her, if she’d let him. He turned back for the door and slipped inside the Great Hall, to hopefully stand undisturbed, while Katria was forced into a game she never wanted to play. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update on my updating: I'll be on vacation in the mountains for the next week, and I won't have access to the Internet, so expect the next chapter a little later than usual! Hopefully the content and length will make up for the delay. :P We've done the subtle insult-y banter, so now Katria and Vivienne will have an actual conversation and all. 
> 
> In other news, I would like to say that y’all’s comments and support have been so wonderful and made such an impact on me. Some days, my writing confidence just plunges into the abyss, and I flail around my computer rather than write anything worthwhile—then I get awesome messages from you all, and I feel renewed and just grateful beyond relief, so yay! And thank you!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from my break! I climbed a mountain! (It was exhausting :P)

Due to her skill set, Katria had a fair amount of situational awareness. She knew how to analyze her surroundings, how to strategize, how to hone her senses to catch the smallest hint of changing conditions. 

Here, in the garden with Vivienne, Katria knew her situation was not good. First, she was far out of her comfort zone: in a dress surrounded by nobles. Her emotions weren’t exactly in balance either. Between Cullen, Bailey, and her dance with Laurent Ghislain, she rather felt like a small skiff being tossed violently in the waves. Her instinct whenever she felt that way was to run—not stand by and engage in conversation with a woman far superior than her at playing the Game. 

Vivienne motioned down the garden path, and they began a stroll towards the Chantry. 

“Tell me, Inquisitor, how are you?” Vivienne asked. “I heard about your little scrape in South Reach—you are so lucky to be alive.” 

“I am fine, and the situation was a mild one,” Katria said, then recalled Josie’s reminders about being polite in conversation. “And how are you faring, Lady Vivienne?” 

“Quite well,” she replied. “I spent the season in Val Royeaux and had the most wonderful interludes with Divine Victoria. I got a letter from her just today, in fact.” 

Katria resisted the urge to clench her jaw. She hated how their conversation was some thinly-veiled power struggle, a ridiculous matching of wits, when all they were talking about was how each of them was doing. 

Vivienne, as usual, had made the first move—a smooth one. Clever. Devastating because Vivienne knew very well that these interludes she was attending with Cassandra were ones Katria was not invited to. In the last month, all the correspondence that the Inquisition had received from the Chantry was written by scribes; Cass no longer wrote personal letters. 

The reason was likely because Katria had pushed the Divine, her friend, too hard about the new reforms that allowed the College of Enchanters to rejoin the Circle. Josie said Cass needed time to consider, contemplate—that she could very well _reverse_ said reforms if given the right motivation. And Vivienne was doing her very best to give Cass the right motivation. 

More than anything, Katria was crushed by the possibility that she might lose another friend to her job as the Inquisitor. It was easy to _say_ that personal and professional would never intertwine, that Cassandra or Cullen or Vivienne would have remained her friends, but the reality of the situation was completely different. 

“Yes,” Katria eventually said. “I hear Cass is in good health.” 

_Cass_ , she had said. To show Vivienne that Divine Victoria was still her friend first. No matter how much time Vivienne spent at the Grand Cathedral cultivating professional consideration, she would never have the personal relationship that Katria and Cassandra had. Used to have. 

The two of them stopped outside the Chantry—the room was empty, the door ajar, no noble interested in prayer when there was drink and food and gossip to be had. 

Katria turned to Vivienne with her hands folded—always folded, to keep her body from giving away her frustration. “What did you need me for, Lady Vivienne?” 

Vivienne met her gaze. She was a few inches taller because of her shoes and hat, but Katria was not intimidated by it. Vivienne _did_ look stunning, though; it reminded her of something Blackwall had said once--that the poisonous snakes were often the most beautiful. 

“I came to ask you to reconsider the reforms you forced through the Chantry hierarchy last year. The system is floundering under them.” 

Katria kept her expression stoic. “I was not aware that reforms approved by the Chantry’s Divine could be _forced_.” 

Vivienne gestured primly with one hand. “Everyone agreed that the Circle and Templar Order needed reform,” she said. “I was so pleased at first that you and Divine Victoria did not disband either group like some of your…allies wished to do.” 

Vivienne meant Leliana, of course, who, if she had her way, would have disbanded the Circles completely. Vivienne continued before Katria could reply. 

“You’ve simply gone too far, my dear. They needed better oversight, clearly, but an overly lenient Circle is a threat to all of Thedas.” 

Katria leaned back slightly. “And when you say better oversight, you mean _you_?” 

“When you appointed me Grand Enchanter of the Circle, I did an excellent job maintaining your reforms,” Vivienne said, with her typical, but not completely unwarranted, confidence. 

“You were ready to go to _war_ with the College of Enchanters,” Katria said. 

Vivienne shrugged at the accusation. “Divine Victoria should have forced the rebel mages to rejoin the Circles. We execute those who will not submit, then we deal with the rest.”

“I was at war with Corypheus, too recently in my memory,” Katria replied. “I was not going to start another one when we could negotiate.” 

“Magic works best when responsibility supervised for the safety and protection of all,” Vivienne said, looking out at the others milling about the courtyard. “You should not jeopardize the safety of Thedas because you are too frightened to get your hands dirty.” 

She scowled, her face breaking, knowing if Josie was there she would wince. “Nice try, but we were friends once, Vivienne,” she said. “You know I’d do whatever it takes to get the job done.” 

“Oh, Inquisitor, you wound me. Are we not friends now?” 

Katria studied her carefully—her elegant posture, the guarded expression on her face hidden by her mask. “You’ve been actively protesting all of my reforms since you left the Circle.” 

“It’s nothing personal, my dear,” she said with a dismissive motion. “You would think less of me if I did not stand up against the unjust and radical reforms that threaten the safety of Ferelden and Orlais.” 

“The only thing threatening the safety of Ferelden and Orlais is the Keepers, who think violence will somehow get them what they want.” 

“Force is merely one tool among many that can be used to encourage change,” Vivienne said. Her lip twitched slightly. “Perhaps the Keepers are doing more than you’re aware of.” 

Katria _was_ well-aware that those who opposed the reforms of the Circle had many ways of trying to reverse them—the Keepers and their violence was merely one facet of a strategy that included Vivienne’s diplomatic scheming. Not that Vivienne would ever admit to funding or directing the attacks across Ferelden. She’d certainly take credit for anything else, though. 

Katria turned away and looked over the tops of her flowers, past the lanterns, over the battlements, to the inky black sky above them. She needed to rein herself in. 

Vivienne motioned to her wrist, where a thin, gem-encrusted bracelet was clasped. Katria almost felt the metal _burn_ once attention was drawn to it. She hated having it on. 

“That was his mother’s bracelet, you know,” she remarked. “Nicoline had such fine taste. He must be quite serious to give it to you.”

That _almost_ snapped Katria—it really didn’t take much. She was a brittle board with more weight than she cared for piled on top of her. Laurent Ghislain had given her the bracelet. Because he liked her. Because Josie said he wanted to _marry_ her.

Josie also said it was a good match. Vivienne had climbed the political ladder with the help of Laurent’s father. She did not have noble blood and still required the support of his family. Support she would not have if Laurent married the Inquisitor. The thought made her nauseous to her core. Not because Laurent was a cruel or foppish man—he was quite nice, actually—but because as long as Katria had promised herself she’d never consent to an arranged marriage, she might not have a choice. 

“The bracelet is exquisite,” Katria said simply. 

“Laurent would be quite the match for you,” Vivienne said. “Such a kind boy. His father loved him very much.” 

Vivienne was being mild—Laurent was an excellent match for her. Katria was not stupid; as much as she blanched and ignored and joked, she could discern the benefits such an alliance could bring. Laurent would one day lead the Council of Heralds like his father. He came from an incredibly wealthy, prominent family with blood ties to Celene. Katria, as the Inquisitor, was most appealing to Fereldens—she was indelicate, industrious, expressive. Laurent could balance her out, make her more palatable to the Orlesians who scoffed at Katria’s methods.

And, of course, marrying Laurent would completely neutralize Vivienne. Laurent was the head of his house—other Ghislains wouldn’t cross him to continue to support Vivienne. Not with an alliance to the Inquisition on the table. 

Naturally, then, Vivienne was lying through her teeth. The pleasure she expressed about Laurent marrying Katria was a flimsy veneer. She needed to do whatever it took to prevent such an alliance from coming to fruition—saying that would be in poor taste, though. 

Katria shifted and looked down at the ground, before reminding herself to keep her head up. 

“Laurent has been nothing but kind to me,” she said. A truth she didn’t want to face, at times. “He sent the bracelet once he heard about the incident in South Reach. As a Wintersend gift.” 

“Doubtless he’d prefer you to spend time in Orlais with him, rather than Ferelden,” Vivienne said. 

“I go where my work takes me,” Katria replied, pressing her thumb into her palm to keep herself from fiddling with the bracelet. 

Vivienne made a short, humming noise. “So peculiar, that the Keepers concentrated their efforts in South Ferelden.”

Katria shrugged. “It’s far from Denerim and Val Royeaux.” 

“And so close to former Commander Cullen, as well,” she said with a polite smile. “How wonderful it is that you were able to see him again.”

Maker’s _balls_ did she not want to talk about Cullen. She wanted to _growl_ at Vivienne—tell her to leave him out of their conversation. She had to settle. 

“Yes, he is a good friend to the Inquisition.” 

“A good friend to the Inquisition and quite smitten with you, my dear.” Vivienne shifted and folded her hands together while Katria’s irritation turned her cheeks red. “How…fortuitous that he returned to you now.” 

“I would kindly thank you to stay out of my personal affairs, Vivienne,” Katria said curtly. She exhaled through her nose before her brow furrowed. “How _fortuitous_? What is that supposed to mean?” 

Katria turned to look at Vivienne, a sinking feeling in her chest pulling her down, making her feel smaller than before. 

“Nothing, my dear. I just remember how you feel about him.” 

Katria reached up and touched the cool skin across her chest. She could feel her heart thrumming underneath. Vivienne had known for months about the potential marriage between Laurent and Katria. She obviously wanted to prevent it from happening. How could she achieve her goal? Secure a union for Laurent to someone more powerful, perhaps, but who, really, was more appealing politically than the Inquisitor—the vanquisher of Corypheus? 

What if it wasn’t _fortuitous_ at all that she saw Cullen again? What if it was _intentional_ —some move in the Game to prevent Katria from severing Vivienne’s noble ties? 

With few options, what was Vivienne to do except arrange for her rebels to lure the Inquisitor to South Reach, where her former lover lived, in the hopes of drawing the two of them back together? In the hopes that Katria—who hated the Game so deeply and didn’t really want to marry Laurent anyway—would get that little push she needed to reject Laurent’s contract in favor of being with her reconciled love, allowing Vivienne to retain her influence. 

“You—you sent the Keepers to South Reach on _purpose_ , didn’t you?” Katria demanded angrily. “You think I’m some flighty girl who would turn Laurent down if I…if I…” 

Katria’s calm expression had been ripped away; her fists were balled, jaw clenched. Vivienne merely raised a single eyebrow in response. “You think me that devious, Inquisitor? I have no control over the Keepers anyway.” 

Katria stepped closer. “ _Liar_. How dare you co-opt…” 

Vivienne put a hand on her shoulder, and Katria flinched. “My dear, dear girl, I know you want so desperately to be able to turn Laurent down,” she said. “You don’t want to give him heirs or immerse yourself further in the Game.” 

Vivienne squeezed her reassuringly and lowered her voice an octave. “I want you to turn Laurent down, too. I’m just giving you the right motivation.”

Katria shook from her grasp. “I-I will not give in to your—your _manipulation_ , Vivienne.” 

“Of course, dear,” she said with an indulgent smile. “Marry Laurent. Give birth to his children. Spurn Cullen. Choose duty over love.” 

“I don’t _have_ to marry Laurent,” she protested. “There are other ways to gain influence.” Not that marrying Laurent was about gaining influence—it was about neutralizing Vivienne. Preventing her from convincing Cassandra or Celene that stricter regulation of the Circle was necessary. 

“Is that really true, Inquisitor?” Vivienne asked as she stepped closer, her shoe making a single click against the gray stone. 

She leaned closer. “Can you afford to love freely, even if you want to?” 

Katria wanted to scream at her. How _dare she_ make Cullen a part of her game? He did not deserve to be manipulated like that. Instead of losing her temper, she stood trembling with rage while Vivienne looked out at the garden. 

“I do so enjoy our conversations, Inquisitor,” she said. “I hope you stay in touch. Give my regards to Ser Cullen.” 

Katria just glared at her in response, and when Vivienne turned her back, she darted into the Chantry and closed the door behind her. She heard Josie’s voice in her head—don’t be odd, Inquisitor, don’t disappear, don’t look flustered. All things she was doing, and she didn’t give a fuck. 

Katria leaned up against the door and let out a small sob. She felt pathetic. Vivienne almost reducing her to tears because—because her plan was _working_. All Katria had thought about when she was dancing with Laurent was _Cullen_. Whether he would notice. Whether he would be jealous. 

She gave a low growl of frustration because _fuck_ if Vivienne had not found a brilliant way to casually throw a wrench into the Inquisition’s plans to ally with the Ghislains. It was risky, certainly—there would have been no way for her to be sure that her and Cullen would have rekindled so much as a friendship. 

But that wasn’t true, was it? Vivienne was once a part of the Inquisition. She knew how strong the attraction between them was. She knew why it ended. Part of her wanted to hate Vivienne, but what was she doing other than playing the Game? She was just a player in a system that Katria passionately despised. 

There was a quiet knock on the door behind her back before a voice hissed: “Inquisitor?” 

It was Josie—she’d probably been waiting in the fringes of the garden watching them the whole time. Katria stepped forward to let her inside, her gown rustling, before the door shut again. 

“What’s wrong?” Josephine asked. 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I know I…did poorly.” 

“What did she say to you?” 

Katria swallowed. “It was—it was on _purpose_ , Josie.” She dropped her hands and turned. “Vivienne doesn’t want me to marry Laurent, so she sent the Keepers to South Reach, so that I’d follow them there and see Cullen again. She hoped I would reconcile with him. Be in _love_ and reject Laurent.” 

Josephine soothed her hands down her dress. She did not look surprised. “We knew that Vivienne would do whatever it took to prevent your marriage to him.” 

“Yes, but-,” Katria threw her hand up impatiently. “But _this_?” 

“It is quite the plan,” Josephine said. “Far-fetched, even. That’s good news. She’s out of options.” She hesitated and cleared her throat. “Unless…” 

“What?” 

Josephine rubbed her reddened lips together. “Did it work?” 

“Did—did _what_ work?” Katria asked exasperatedly. “A-Are you asking me if I’m in love with Cullen? Because I’m not. That’s absurd.” 

“Why are you so upset, then?” she asked. 

Katria sighed, her shoulders slumping. “My feelings are…” Her voice became barely a murmur. “Stronger than they should be.” 

“Well,” Josephine replied promptly. “That should not be a problem. He is here only for the banquet, and then will return to South Reach. It will all be as it was before. How silly of Vivienne to think seeing him for a few days would encourage you to turn down such a lucrative contact with Laurent.” 

“Yes,” Katria said, though she felt numb. “How silly.” 

She appreciated that Josie was doing her job—thinking strategically as a diplomat—but Katria wasn’t sure she needed that right now. Or maybe she did, but she also wanted to scream until her ear drums shattered about how incredibly unfair it was that her happiness was so easily expended in the name of politics. 

Josephine touched up her hair. “Well, I should get back out there. We will discuss this situation more fully once the ball is over.” 

Katria nodded. “Alright. I’m just going to…take a few more minutes here.” 

Josephine squeezed her hand with a comforting smile. “Of course. Please let me know if you need anything.” 

Her Ambassador disappeared with another rustle and the click of the door. Katria stood still for a few moments. The silence around her was staggering and heavy. Her eyes slid to the glowing statue of Andraste. She frowned. 

“I guess it would be unreasonable for me to have two husbands like you, hmm?” she asked sourly. “Did you even like either of them? Did it matter?” 

Katria made a disgusted noise and turned away because it was generally a good rule to not talk to inanimate objects. She walked further into the quiet room and tried to take a few calming breaths. 

The door opened again, but this time a larger body blocked out the light pouring in from the garden. It was Cullen, standing there at the threshold, looking a little nervous. 

“I, um, wanted to make sure you were okay,” he began cautiously. “I know conversations with Vivienne probably aren’t your favorite things.” 

Katria just stared at him at first. Her eyes began to burn—she so ardently wished things were less complicated between them. Or perhaps that nothing existed between them at all.

“I’m fine,” she finally said, sounding stiff and wooden. “It was a productive conversation.” 

Cullen inched inside. “Oh,” he said, then looked around. “I thought since you were in here maybe…” 

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Forgive me. I’ll…leave you alone.” 

Katria clenched her jaw. “Wait,” she said with a strangled sound. Her hand shot out and fumbled for his sleeve. “ _Wait_.”

Cullen turned back to her, and she bit her lip, hesitating before she pressed herself against him with one large step and buried her face in his neck. He stiffened at first, inhaling a small breath, and then his large, warm hands slid across her shoulder blades and the small of her back. Oftentimes she had felt too tall for him, her head nestled on his shoulder rather than against his chest, but this, with his cheek against her hair and his breath tickling her ear, was perfect.

Being back in his arms was probably not a good idea because her throat tightened further—she could feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes. He was so solid and gentle and comforting. She fisted her fingers in his jacket and tried to take a steadying breath. 

“What happened?” Cullen asked, his voice only a whisper against her hair. 

Katria exhaled. “Silly political stuff,” she said hoarsely, and then squeezed her eyes shut, her brain screaming _tell him, tell him, tell him the truth_.

He sighed—she felt it in the rise of his firm chest. “I wish I could help.” 

“You are helping,” she said, swallowing thickly. “You are.”

He squeezed her with all his strength, always so fierce in his affection after that initial hesitation. A small whimper escaped through her clenched teeth and then she was trembling in his arms, trying so hard to keep herself together as everything in her felt like it was unraveling. Her identity and her feelings—all chipped away and cast aside, melting into the supposed greatness that was the _Inquisitor_. Some days, she felt like no one. A piece on a chess board thrust into always changing positions, her personal feelings as Katria manipulated and violated in order to win the game. 

Cullen stood with her for a few minutes, the hand on her shoulder blade moving up to weave into her hair, before he realized he shouldn’t be tousling the intricate twists in it. He let his fingers fall to her neck as his thumb gently stroked her cheek. 

“I should let go of you now,” she said quietly. 

“You don’t have to,” he murmured back. 

Katria inhaled a small, serrated breath—things were far, _far_ too intimate between them right now. “Cullen,” she choked out, then turned her head and broke away from him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t-,” 

“No, I….” Katria trailed off, still not able to look at him. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s my fault. I-I’m terribly conflicted right now and-,” She put her hands on her hips and began pacing. “And I just feel like my life has been consumed by—by the _Inquisitor_.” 

Katria sat down on the small stone bench along the wall, the stiffness in her dress making her posture straighter than she’d like. She heard Cullen’s footsteps as he came to sit beside her on the other end, keeping plenty of distance between them. 

She rubbed her palms together, the green in her mark spilling out between the seams. There was no way to escape the light, or her job, it seemed.

“I just don’t feel like a person sometimes.” 

Cullen leaned his elbows on his knees and turned towards her. “I know it’s not easy to be seen as the Inquisitor all the time. But you’re—you are a perfectly normal person.”

She snorted. “Am I?” 

“You have weird little habits just like everyone else,” Cullen said. “When you eat tiny cakes, you save the blue ones for last, all in a neat little pile, because they’re your favorite. You snore. You never eat the peas in your meat pie. You used to bundle all the blankets in bed around you at night, which might have been endearing or cute if I didn’t have a hole in my roof during winter. Your feet and your boots smell _terrible_ when you take them off after returning to Skyhold. Sometimes you spit on the ground after a fight.” 

Katria looked over at him, her brows furrowed, before a small smile tugged at her lip. “I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered by these observations.”

“Neither,” he said, then shrugged. “They’re just examples of—of how you’re a person, not a perfect saint sent by Andraste.” He cleared his throat. “That’s not to say that you aren’t…I mean, notwithstanding your odd habits, you’re a remarkable woman. The most remarkable that I’ve ever, um…” 

Katria looked away, part of her _mad_ at him because he was so considerate and kind and thoughtful—her feelings were playing right into Vivienne’s little plot, and she didn’t even have the courage to tell him what was happening. She pushed herself up from the bench. 

“I should return to the Great Hall,” she murmured. “Josephine will worry that I haven’t returned.” 

Maybe she had worked herself up too much over Vivienne’s attempts at subterfuge. She had been honest when she said she wasn’t in love with him. Attracted to him, yes. And as a matter of fact, she could _act_ on that attraction if she really wanted because her potential arrangement with Laurent was only about politics. Not that Cullen might even want to do anything with her; he was a good, kind man who was only comforting someone who seemed troubled. 

“I can escort you, if you’d like,” he said. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Katria nodded once. “Absolutely.” 

She linked arms with him and walked out the Chantry, reassembling that mental mask of calm that everyone else seemed to wear so well. She was still angry that Vivienne meddled with her emotions—with _Cullen’s_ emotions. Any Game-player would have done it, though. 

But Vivienne was wrong, and Katria would not throw away her chance to maintain her reforms of the Circle. She covered the uncomfortable lump of feelings in the pit of her stomach with a resolution to continue on her current trajectory. Cullen would be leaving soon, and love was not something she would admit to feeling once he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I agonized over this chapter for sure—I wanted it to be *just right* so hopefully it is at least sufficient. The good news is, there was plenty of dialogue from Vivienne in the game about what she would do with the Circles, so hopefully I’m not stretching or distorting anything on that end. If I am, let me know! It's been interesting to consider how Vivienne would react to an Inquisition that completely revised the Circles contrary to what she believes--I don't think she'd sit idly by and take it. 
> 
> And in general, if y'all have thoughts on the *events*, I'd love to hear. There is definitely more to come for the evening, but I'm always willing to revise if necessary.


	16. Chapter 16

Katria returned to the Great Hall determined to make up for her likely-noticed outburst in the garden and to completely forget about what _caused_ that outburst in the first place. Before she began socializing, she grabbed a drink, of which she promised she’d allow herself many more later. She eventually made her way back over to the table of tiny-cakes and spotted Bailey in her dark green dress with plate in hand. The back of her gown was wrinkled from where she’d been sitting on the roof. 

Katria walked up beside her. Instead of saying anything, Bailey huffed and purposefully turned away. Katria glanced over and furrowed her brow when she saw Pickles simpering at their feet. 

“Duck, you can’t have the dog in the ballroom.” 

Bailey continued serving herself cakes, her movements terse, meant to convey distaste. Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “I know you can hear me,” she said. “Don’t get that attitude or tone or whatever with me.” 

Bailey dropped the tongs too brusquely onto the table. “Pickles is dressed for the ball.” 

Katria looked down at the dog, who, sure enough, had a dark green ribbon tied around his neck. She snorted. “He looks lovely, but is still not allowed.” 

“Fine.” 

Bailey twisted on her heel and walked to the nearest hallway while Pickles scurried behind her. Katria followed her after trapping a groan in her throat. The sounds from the ballroom were muffled as the heavy wood door shut behind them, dimming the space. 

“Really?” Katria said in pursuit of the still sulking Bailey. “All this over some boy?” 

Bailey turned and lowered her plate slightly. “Thomas is not just _some_ boy. I really like him!” 

“You hardly know him!” Katria protested. “And he lives very far away.” 

She made a disgusted noise. “Yes, let’s make this about you and Cullen.” 

“What in the Void is that supposed to mean?” 

“You don’t want to be with Cullen because he lives in South Reach, even though you like him,” she said. “So I can’t be with Thomas because if you can’t be happy, no one can!” 

That sounded to Katria like a hearty dose of teenage-logic—riddled with holes and quite dramatic. She raised her hand. 

“First of all, there are _many_ reasons why I can’t be with—don’t _want_ to be with Cullen. Secondly, what I am more concerned about is the fact that you’re barely thirteen. Why are you—there’s no need to _rush_ this. I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Bailey said bitterly, her brow furrowed. “Thomas won’t even so much as _look_ at me anymore. You’re the Inquisitor—you terrify him. He thinks you’re going to get the Maker to smite him or something.”

Katria put her hands on her hips and began pacing wall to wall, wondering why there was not more alcohol in this particular hallway. She exhaled sharply through her nose. “It was never my intention to do that, duck. I was just—a little startled, I guess. You didn’t even tell me you liked him.” 

“I knew you wouldn’t approve,” Bailey said. 

Katria stopped and turned to her. “Now that’s not true. I like Thomas. He’s a good kid.” 

Bailey dropped her eyes and prodded absently at a few of her cakes. “Well, I just…I didn’t tell you about him because I didn’t want you to…feel bad. Because you’re all… _with_ that Orlesian guy. Or whatever. I know that makes you sad.”

“I am not _with_ -,” Her words became a muddled sigh once she caught sight of her bracelet glimmering in the torchlight. Guilt then washed over her because even this young girl knew how dire the situation was with Laurent, when Cullen had no idea. She walked over to Bailey and put her hand on her shoulder. 

“It’s very sweet of you to consider my feelings that way, but the fact that my thirteen year-old apprentice has a little boyfriend does not make me feel bad.” 

Her cheeks reddened. “You—you think I could call Thomas my _boyfriend_?” 

“What? No! I was just-,” 

Bailey thrust her plate into Katria’s hands with a goofy smile. “I’m going to try and talk to him now!” The girl shot past her, dress rustling. 

“Wha—Bailey!” Katria exclaimed after her. “Just—no kissing! Or touching! Talking is allowed only in public-,” 

The door cut her off as Bailey disappeared back into the Great Hall, leaving Katria alone in a shadowy hallway. Katria looked down at the plate clenched in her hands, sighing heavily. The door creaked open again, and she perked up, hoping Bailey had maybe come back to her instead of running off to her new…friend. 

“Inquisitor, you can’t keep disappearing like that!” 

Josephine hurried down the hall with the skirt of her dress clenched in one of her hands. She stopped in front of her and pursed her lips. “So, I have an idea.” 

Katria almost winced—Josie’s _ideas_ normally involved dresses or tea parties or nobles and were not any degree of _fun_. She ran her fingers along the small lace collar of her grown. 

“Yes?” 

Josephine hesitated. “I know it will be a _little_ more complicated given what we learned from your conversation with Vivienne, but if we weigh the benefits of you dancing with Cullen versus the potential awkward-,” 

“No _way_ ,” Katria interrupted tersely. 

“Inquisitor, please,” she implored with a sympathetic look. “It would be very advantageous to capitalize on the popularity of Dorian’s version of events given…given how few opportunities we’ve had to really make a splash among Orlesian courtiers.” She took a small step closer. “You’re not giving in to Vivienne’s silly ploy by dancing with him one time.” 

Katria felt her composure fracturing into an all-too-familiar series of cracks. “Why must we always put on a _show_ for these narcissistic pricks?” 

“I know these affairs try your patience,” Josephine said gently. “It will only last a little longer, and you must understand how important it is we-,” 

“I know,” Katria bit out, then she sighed because she knew she needed to be fairer to Josie about all this. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. This is all just—I feel so…” Her chest constricted, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She was floundering, _failing_ when all she wanted was to just feel at least a little in control. 

“It’s alright, Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “I understand your frustration.” She folded her hands together and laid them across her stomach. “So there’s…no chance at all I could convince you to dance with Cullen?” 

Katria clenched her jaw at the thought—dancing with him in front of all those people, when once upon a time, her relationship with him had been the _one_ private thing she’d allowed herself. Her dance would encourage the nobles to treat Cullen like they had at the Winter Palace and she’d never, ever be complicit in something like that. It was a game to them, but not to Katria. 

“I’m not going to do that,” she said firmly. 

“Of course,” Josephine replied. “But at least promise you’ll stay in the Great Hall until the evening is over. I don’t want anyone noticing your prolonged absences.” 

Katria nodded. “Alright, it’s a deal.” 

A deal that would require copious amounts of bourbon for her to grapple with, but Katria did not say that to Josephine as she smiled brightly and turned back around to slip back into crowds in the other room. Katria stayed behind, reaching out and putting one palm flat against the stone wall. She bowed her head, her heart lodged in her throat, and her thoughts only a long string of expletives.

Katria tried to find comfort in Josie’s words. Only a few more hours remained. A few hours and she’d be done and over with this. With dancing and talking. With Vivienne. And most importantly, with Cullen. 

=== 

The rest of the evening did not go _as_ poorly as Cullen expected. At the Winter Palace, he’d felt out of control—like valuable prey in an unfamiliar environment. He was accosted by indistinguishable faces and trapped in a cage so gilded it felt unreal. For the better, he did not receive that attention this particular evening. 

The focus of this event was the Inquisition, and Cullen—with a deep, old and ignored twang of sadness—assumed since he was no longer a part of it, his value to the nobility was much less than before. That suited him _just fine_. He was very content spending the evening hovering beside Ros glaring at her various suitors or standing in the corner just barely answering the questions of those who asked about his…heroic actions in South Reach. Rylen was now the one under the weight of noble attention; men and women swarmed him whenever he was in the Great Hall, the lot of them absolutely titillated by his accent and not in the least deterred by his _frequent_ mentioning of his wife.

Katria flitted in and out of the room, consumed by her duties. Cullen commiserated with the utter misery evident in her eyes, to him at least, that juxtaposed the shaky smile she was trying so hard to keep on her face. While Cullen was listening to Bran recount every _single_ detail of his dance with the Comtesse d’Argent, he spotted Katria across the room. Her expression seemed more…genuine than he’d seen it all night. She laughed and covered her perfect rose-stained lips, then nodded enthusiastically. 

She was talking to Michel de-too-handsome-to-be-practical Chevin, of course. Cullen, for the fourth or fifth time that evening, tried to extinguish the pang of jealously he felt. It was an old jealousy, with Chevin. He’d shown up at Skyhold after Katria’s first visit to the Emprise du Lion, and Cullen had looked up from his frenzied work searching for Samson just long enough to see the way he utterly oozed charm. And honor. And how Katria got along so well with him. Cullen remembered a conversation they had once about it—his heart hurt a little to recall it now. 

_Katria was dueling with Michel in the courtyard, crowing about how refreshing it was to be in single combat with someone as eminently talented as him. Michel, in turn, was equally as complimentary._

 _Cullen frowned at the whole display, before he had the good sense to return to his office to pour over the letters from Samson that Katria had gathered in the Emprise du Lion. They distracted him from the long-dormant emotions swirling inside him. They’d sprung up, shaking off dust from disuse, and then envy had claimed his mind in a vice-like grip. It was ludicrous; he was not a jealous or possessive person. Certainly, he was infinitely awed that Katria had sought out a relationship with him, and some days he was convinced it would all come crumbling down because he was far too broken for her to tolerate, but he was not the jealous type._

_He’d never really had any other woman long enough to confirm that, but he had always assumed it. The flash of anger that hit him when he saw Michel kiss Katria’s knuckles contradicted that assumption. Cullen felt a little guilty giving into such base emotions—thinking that Katria was his woman, when she was only being polite and could very well do what she pleased. _

_By the afternoon, Katria had finished practicing with Michel, and then came to Cullen’s office to speak to him. She opened the door with a smile, which Cullen returned after he finished making some final notes about Samson’s letters._

_“I have a question for you,” she said, as she rounded the edge of his desk and leaned against it beside where he sat in his chair. She put her hand over his and squeezed it briefly; it still amazed him sometimes that he had such easy contact with another person._

_“What is it?”_

_“I’ve been thinking about what to do with Michel de Chevin now that he’s willing to work for the Inquisition,” she explained. “I want to help him reconcile with Celene and regain his status as a chevalier, but he could be of use here in the meanwhile. I thought about posting him inside Josie’s office so she could gaze at him and sigh contently, but I’m sure he has other skills.”_

_Cullen leaned back. “He is a seasoned chevalier. He might be most helpful as one of my officers.”_

_“Not just seasoned,” Katria said. “One of the best.”_

_He just gave a grunt in response and looked back down at his letters. Katria thought for a few moments, then pushed some hair behind her ear. “I think you’re right though—I want him with our troops. Could you speak with him about it?”_

_“You don’t want to?” he asked tentatively._

_She shook her head. “I trust you with our men, so I trust you to recruit our officers, too.” She paused and furrowed her brow. “Why would you think that I would want to speak to him?”_

_Cullen cleared his throat. “Well, I was—I mean, I only thought since you two…”_

_Katria scooted forward on his desk with her hands curled around the edge. She was smiling slightly. “Are you jealous of Michel?”_

_Cullen straightened some of the papers in front of him. “Don’t be absurd.”_

_She shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t know; he does have excellent hair. And that musculature…”_

_“Kat,” he sputtered, frowning immediately, to which she giggled in response._

_“I’m only teasing,” she said._

_“Yes, you almost always are,” he replied, not looking at her._

_“Oh, Cullen,” she said plaintively. Katria pushed herself from the desk and flopped down against him, her long legs straddling his thighs as he sat. Cullen’s gaze instinctively turned sideways towards the door, a blush creeping up his neck from thinking about the implications this position would have for any visitors._

_His concern was washed away when she put her hands on his face and raked her fingernails gently through the stubble on his jaw._

_“If you had any idea how much I adore you, you wouldn’t care if the Maker himself came down from the heavens and asked for my hand in marriage,” she told him._

_He shifted and raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what happened to Andraste?”_

_She rested her forehead against his. “Well, Andraste did not have you.”_

_Cullen steadied her with his hands before he lifted his chin to capture her lips with his—it’s all he had in response to the intensity of feeling that shuddered through him at her words. He could feel the calloused skin of her thumbs against his cheeks before they slid back into his hair. She pulled away from him just as he opened his mouth to deepen their kiss._

_“I have another question,” she replied to the small noise of protest he made._

_“What?” he huffed out._

_“Why are you jealous of Michel?” she asked, tracing one neatly-trimmed fingernail down the scar on his lip, studying it like she hadn’t pressed her mouth against it dozens of times. “Why not Blackwall or Bull? They spend weeks on the road with me, and I have closer friendships to them.”_

_His brow puckered as he considered her question—he hadn’t really thought about it that way._

_“I’m…not sure,” Cullen finally said, before he drummed his fingers against her hips. “It’s probably because-,” He hesitated. “Chevin is a noble and could give you things I…could not.”_

_“Michel’s bloodline is completely fabricated,” she said._

_“But you’re helping to restore his status and perhaps—well, I know we spoke of it once, but after Halamshiral…” He sighed. “Katria, it really matters to these people where you come from and who you marry.” _

_“Yes,” she said, leaning in closer to him. “It matters to a bunch of people who wear ridiculous masks and kill each other for sport and eat a flavor of cake called ‘the exquisite misery’.” She soothed back some of his hair that she’d tousled. “Orlesians should not be the standard for logic or practicality. The important thing is that it does not matter to me.”_

_“The Inquisition needs their support,” he said. “And it’s not just Orlais that has nobility—I’m sure if your parents were alive, they’d disapprove of the fact that I have no noble title.”_

_Katria’s hands framed his face. “Listen to me,” she said softly. “I do not care. I will never care. I am not some broodmare with a carefully-charted bloodline. I do not exist to be sold to the bidder with the most appealing dowry. I will not get married for the sole purpose of producing socially superior heirs. I would be perfectly content wedding a pig farmer if I so pleased.”_

_Would you be content marrying a weary, nightmare-plagued, ex-Templar, he thought, then stamped out that thought like it was on fire. Before Cullen could properly reply, she slid her hands across the fur in his coat and around his neck._

_“You are a brilliant commander, but such a foolish man sometimes,” she murmured against his hair._

_He moved his hands up her back and exhaled. “Alright. I’ll quit worrying.”_

_“Good,” she said, wiggling back so she could meet his gaze. “I play politics for the Inquisition, but I won’t let it take over my life.” She pressed her lips to his. “Not with you in it.”_

__Something socked him in the arm. “Are you listening to me?”_ _

__Cullen looked over at Branson. “What?” he said. “I mean, yes.”_ _

__Bran crossed his arms over his chest. “What was I talking about then?”_ _

__“A woman you danced with.”_ _

"Well-,” Bran stopped and grunted. “Yes, fine. But I still know you weren’t paying attention!” He waved his hand. “You’re too busy… _gawking_.” 

__Cullen purposefully turned away from the dancing couples. “I am not.”_ _

__“Oh, yes, I’m sorry,” Bran said. “I meant you’re too busy brooding. Dripping with envy.” He looked over at Michel and Katria. “He’s handsome, though you’ve got him on height.”_ _

__“Maker’s breath, Bran.”_ _

His brother rolled his eyes. “Alright, _fine_. Mia ordered me to let you enjoy sulking in the corner without any teasing. While I _actually_ enjoy myself dancing.” 

__Bran drained his drink and placed it on the table before marching across the room to some young masked woman who was far too pleased that he began talking to her with his most charming smile. Cullen merely grunted at his brother’s antics, but perhaps secretly hoped that Bran would quit directing his charms towards a particular guest in the Great Hall._ _

Cullen turned back to the center of the room in time to see Katria turn away from Michel with a smile. She picked up a drink from a nearby table and angled her body slightly into one of the corners created by the stone columns beside her. He watched as she threw her head back and finished the drink in only a few seconds. She ran her thumb under her bottom lip when she was finished, her smile fading; she looker older and sadder and more tired than he’d ever seen her. 

__He wondered if her mood had anything to do with whatever transpired between her and Vivienne. Katria had been on the verge of tears when he’d found her, but said nothing._ _

__Cullen knew he had no right to pry, so he’d left it alone. Still, part of him was desperate to discover what had shaken her so badly. Katria had tolerated the Inquisition’s politics for years—what could possibly be giving her pause now?_ _

Katria slipped back into the light and was immediately approached by another noble. She continued her endless, likely exhausting, cycle of nodding and smiling and laughing primly when appropriate. The conversation ended eventually, and Cullen saw her chest rise in a grateful sigh. She lifted her head and suddenly they were staring at _each other_ , instead of him only watching her. 

__Cullen’s cheeks burned, but before he could look away, Katria’s lower lip had already dropped, brow wrinkled, and she broke their eye contact with a guilty expression. He didn’t drop his gaze because he was deeply concerned for her—and maybe also a little curious about what she looked so guilty about._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this chapter into two, so apologies if it ends a little abruptly. It was just getting a little long with the next part coming up :D 
> 
> What really threw a wrench in the length was the flashback. Opinions on this one, or their utility in general, would be appreciated. I have one more in mind, but I can't decide whether I'll include it. I thought it would be helpful to include this one because Katria has always been as willfully ignorant as she can manage about the political expectations of the Inquisitor, and I wanted to show that.


	17. Chapter 17

The evening _ended_. Cullen tried not to leap with joy as the party died down, the music petered off, nobles trickled out of the large room as the moon passed over Skyhold—it was all _over_. 

Cullen had attempted to keep an eye on the Inquisitor the last few hours, while also trying to look like he wasn’t doing exactly that, and he eventually watched her slip into a vacant hallway after she thanked all her guests for attending. Cullen considered following her, before Rosalie latched onto him and asked to be escorted back to her room. He acquiesced because it gave him another chance to make clear with his facial expression that his little sister was not to be bothered again by any of the men who had expressed an interest in her lineage. 

The Great Hall was completely empty once he returned there—it seemed hollow now, and quiet, except for the clink of silverware as Inquisition servants cleared the tables. Cullen crossed the room to the hallway he had seen Katria disappear down. Part of him doubted she’d still be around because it was _well_ past midnight, but he would be…remiss not to see if she was alright. 

He eventually made his way to the basement, climbing the stone steps to an eerie and poorly lit room. The torches on the walls were dim and cast shadows across the floor; Katria was there—Cullen could see the line of her dress as she leaned against a column. 

He crept over to her, stopping periodically because his nerves were rattling his composure. Katria was staring at a painting on the wall, and did not shift her gaze as he stood beside her. 

“Inquisitor,” he began. “I…wanted to make sure you were alright.” 

She didn’t reply at first, just blinked blearily and dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. “Inquisitor,” she repeated, mimicking his gravelly voice and teetering slightly. “The _Inquisitor_.” 

Katria rolled so that her back was against the column. “I am a little…lunk.” 

Cullen’s brow wrinkled. “Drunk?” 

“That’s what I said.” 

He looked around the darkened room. “What are you doing here?” 

Katria folded her arms over her stomach and jerked away from him. “Nothing,” she muttered. 

Cullen hesitated, then moved a little closer. His boot stepped on something, scraping it against the stone floor. He lifted his foot and bent down. 

“Is this yours?” he asked, straightening and offering her the elaborate bracelet in his palm. 

Katria looked over, her eyes widening in horror. “No!” she snapped. “It’s—it’s not! I swear!” 

Cullen hastily withdrew it, surprised at her angry reaction, and dropped it into his pocket. “Right, of course. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

She shuffled around the column away from him. “Go away. I’m very busy.” 

“You’re busy-,” Cullen stopped and had to shove down the strangled noise that threatened to escape from his mouth. Katria was—was _crying_. She was bundled up against the column with her head hung, tears silently trickling down her cheeks. 

Panic rose up swiftly in his chest because his first and only thought was: _shit_. Cullen did not really know how to deal with people when these kinds of situations came up. Emotive communication was not his specialty. Yes, when his nieces and nephews cried, he had learned what to do—he put Jacob’s favorite blanket over his shoulder and rocked the boy until he calmed down, Lydia liked sweets, he had to assess the situation with Olivia _first_ because she’d cry for attention, but Katria was not so easy to figure out—she abhorred showing weakness.

Cullen walked over and pressed his palm against the column beside her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He hesitantly offered it to her. 

Katria accepted it without looking up. She dabbed her eyes, streaking black across it from whatever stuff Josie had put on her face. She sniffed. 

“Your initials are on this,” she murmured. 

Cullen nodded. “Rosalie embroiders them without my permission for practice. I have entirely too many.” He brushed his fingers across her lower arm. “Why are you crying?” 

Katria glared at him, her eyes bloodshot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “You _would_ deny showing weakness even as tears stream down your face.” 

“It’s…nothing,” she said, angrily swiping at the fresh stretch of water around her eyes. 

He gestured with one of his hands and leaned closer. “Katria, there’s nothing wrong with reacting to the tremendous amount of stress you’re under.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away from him, her eyes glistening in the torchlight. “It’s not the stress—it’s the…I’m…” A low growl slipped from her lips, and she marched around the column to hide. 

Cullen circled around the other side, so that he was facing her. “Not very effective trying to hide from me by running in a circle.” 

She sniffled and gave a short huff of a laugh. “Prick.” 

His lip turned up in a hesitant smile. “Katria,” he said gently. “Please believe me when I say that you would feel much better after talking to someone about all this.” 

She snorted. “Don’t tell me you’d be interested in hearing the drunken rambles of some—some aging, poorly-spoken woman.” 

“You’re lovely and brilliant,” he replied and then reddened, wondering if _he’d_ perhaps drank too much because he was being far too bold. 

“A-And I will gladly listen to you,” he added sheepishly.

Katria stretched his handkerchief between her fingers and nibbled on her lip. “I was only upset because…” She gestured to an elaborate oil painting on the wall. It unsettled him a little when he realized that it was a portrait of _Cassandra_ —staring at him with her hard eyes dressed in the outfit of the Divine. 

“Her official Chantry portrait,” Katria mumbled. “The Divine—my _friend_.” She shrugged. “Or she’s _supposed_ to be. But things a-are all wrong. Like with Vivienne. And you-,” She swallowed, her bottom lip trembling. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The Inquisitor isn’t…” 

“Have you spoken to Cassandra?” he asked. 

Katria waited and then shook her head. Her hand caught another tear before it could roll down her cheek. “I-I’m afraid,” she whispered. “I n-never—I _never_ say the right thing. Not with you. Not with anyone. She’ll leave me like everyone else, and I don’t think I could handle that again.” 

“Cassandra wouldn’t do that,” Cullen said. 

“You don’t know that for sure,” she squeaked out. “A-And I’d rather just…” 

Ignore the problem. Her specialty. Cullen sighed. “Katria, you’ll make yourself miserable sitting around worrying if you two are friends rather than just trying to talk to her.” 

“It’s not that easy,” she snapped, her lips thinning. “I am the Inquisitor and she’s the Divine—do you know how hard I work? Do you know how little time I have for _myself_? I cannot take a _single_ step without someone expecting me to solve their fucking problem. There is so much at stake and a million other…” She gave a little sob, and Cullen blanched, putting a hand on her arm and the other on the side of her neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he said hastily, drawing her in. “Please. Katria, I never meant to…” 

Katria wiggled out of his grasp. “Maker’s balls, don’t be sorry.” She turned away from him. “This is so embarrassing,” she murmured. 

Cullen made an exasperated sound. “For Andraste’s sake, don’t be embarrassed you’re showing emotion.” 

“It _is_ embarrassing,” she insisted, cradling her elbow in one of her hands. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever seen _you_ cry…” 

“I have done so,” he said. 

“Oh, like when your trebuchets have been calibrated incorrectly?” Katria grumbled. 

He cleared his throat. “Ah, no. But there have been other…” 

Cullen did not get to finish because Katria raised an arm to dig her hand into her hair. “Maker, that was insensitive,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes again. “I-I’m usually a little less bitter and _idiotic_ when I haven’t consumed…I don’t know, an entire bottle of West Hill Brandy. I’m so sorry.”

Katria moved her trembling hand down to her face. “I should return to my room. I’ve proven I’m utterly undeserving o-of any genuine companionship and-,” She had pushed herself away from the column, but staggered sideways as soon as she was supporting all her weight. 

Cullen lurched forward to catch her by her waist. “I’ve got you,” he said. 

She fumbled a little more, her body languid, before she leaned against his chest. “Sorry again,” she said. “I’m…somewhat articulate when I’ve had too much to drink, but not very graceful.” 

“It’s alright,” Cullen said, helping her stand up straighter with a hand at her elbow. “Let me escort you back to your rooms.” 

“How kind of my handsome knight,” she muttered as he guided her along. Katria leaned heavily against him, her steps clumsy. When they made it to the Great Hall, no one was around, and the room was mostly dark and empty—Cullen was a little relieved at that, seeing as his escort of the Inquisitor to her rooms might be a little scandalous. 

Cullen helped her to the door leading to her quarters. Two of her personal guards were stationed there, as always, and he stopped to speak to them. 

“Could you please help the Inquisitor to her-,” 

“No!” Katria interjected abruptly, tightening her hold on him. “No— _you_ help me.” 

He felt his cheeks turning red. “Katria, I-,” 

“Please?” She gave him a pouty look with her half-lidded, blue eyes, and he sighed in response because not a single inch of him could resist _that_. 

The two of them passed through the threshold, then arrived at the second door that opened to the small flight of stairs in her room. 

Cullen cleared his throat and awkwardly gestured in front of them. “This is your…um, door.” 

Katria released him and took a huge step forward, so her nose was only inches from the wood. She cocked her head. “My door? I don’t see my name on it.” 

Cullen reached past her and pushed it open. “It leads to your room.” 

“Right,” she said, then marched forward, but not before her arm shot back and dragged him with her by the bottom of his coat. 

“Wait, Inquisitor, I-,” Cullen stumbled after her; Katria was a terrible leader because half-way up the stairs, she tripped on the edge of one, her legs tangling in her dress before she pitched forward and pulled him with her. 

Cullen held out his arms and caught himself by his hands, while Katria made a loud _thump_ beside him. 

“Are you okay?” he asked her immediately. 

Katria was laying sideways on the stairs and frowned deeply. She reached over her shoulders and began clawing at the back of her dress. 

“Stupid _gown_ ,” she growled. “I _hate it_.”

She eventually got a hold of the small cloth buttons that held her gown together and began unfastening them. Cullen had not realized what she was doing until the v-shaped neckline of the dress began to droop dangerously low. 

“In-Inquisitor!” he stammered, arms shooting out and grabbing her wrists. Cullen got his balance and pulled her to her feet. He could see the scar that stretched from her shoulder to her collarbone—the one she’d gotten fighting the Northern Hunter in Crestwood.

She blinked owlishly at him. “What?” 

“Why are—Why am I here?” he asked. “Do you need something?” 

She nodded. “Help. With the dress. I can’t take it off myself.” 

“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cullen said, his eyes darting down to her chest for a single second. She wasn’t wearing a breast band, and if the dress fell down just a few more inches, it would—he would be in very big trouble. “I’ll find your attendant. She can help you. She’s nearby, yes?” 

Katria hiccupped. “Just undo the rest of the buttons. I’ll turn around, so you can’t see.” 

Despite the practicality of her suggestion, he felt himself reddening. His pulse thrummed quickly at the prospect of touching her. “No, Katria,” he said, despite himself. “Let’s get you up the stairs a-and…” 

She, of course, did not move. Her blue eyes stared into his, searching, as she leaned closer. She smelled like sugar and lemons and whiskey. Her lips were still stained the faintest shade of red, her cheeks flushed. Maker— _Maker_ , she was beautiful. 

Cullen tore himself from her gaze because his thoughts were spiraling too far out of his control. As he looked down at the dark stained wood of the stairs, he felt her hand touch his chest. Her voice come out a low whisper. 

“You were _the_ most handsome man in that room tonight.” She clenched her fingers into the fabric of his jacket, bunching it across his heart. “You were my handsome man once.” 

Katria stepped closer to him on the step they shared, the end of her dress rustling and pooling against his boots. He kept his face turned away from her, clenching his jaw. His desire for her was coiled tightly in his stomach, around his lungs, making it hard to breathe. It was like a hot strike of lightning—or perhaps the embers of a fire, flickering inconsequentially for two years and now reignited, stoked violently back to a strong flame, just by her smile. 

Without having to look, he could feel how close she was, her face upturned, lips moving close to his skin that burned for her. “All the women that ogled at you would have had to watch me on your arm, dancing with you. They would have given such jealous glares. It would have been so satisfying.” 

Katria tightened her grip on him and her warm breath fanned across his neck. He could feel the seams of his jacket stretching across his shoulders.

Her voice sounded small and broken as she spoke. “Cullen…” 

He looked at her finally, his breath wrung out of him, his heart hammering in his ears. 

Katria’s eyes were glassy, and the corners were slowly filling with tears. She swallowed, and he watched as her lips parted slightly. 

“You want to kiss me, don’t you?” she murmured. 

He shouldn’t—couldn’t…

“Yes,” he croaked.

Cullen put his hand on the nape of her neck, her skin flush and warm against his cold fingers. He roughly pulled her against him and shut his eyes, ready to taste her again, ready to feel like an idiot and hate himself later for what he was doing. 

The door opened. 

Cullen sprang back as a small gasp echoed across the room from the attendant standing aghast at the threshold. He felt himself losing his balance and staggered with one foot down a step to catch himself. 

“Oh,” Katria said numbly, her surprise eroded by how much she’d had to drink. 

The attendant began stammering incoherently. “I-I’m so—I heard Her Worship—she needs help with-,” The poor girl looked on the verge of tears, but instead of saying anything, Cullen swallowed thickly, then with a hurried goodnight, darted down the stairs. 

He slipped through the door and slammed it shut hard behind him. He rested his forehead against the wall, _panting_ —why in the Void was he out of breath? He hadn’t even kissed her. She’d only been touching his chest—that’s _all_ —and he could feel in his breeches that he’d been half- _hard_ and ready to sink the floor and fuck her, if she would have let him. 

“Maker’s— _shit_.”

He straightened and ran both his hands through his hair. That was—could have been—very _bad_. Cullen strode out into the Great Hall holding the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He tried to forget what she said, the _desire_ for him in her voice. The alcohol had probably _amplified_ the tiny, inconsequential feelings Katria had towards him, not uncovered them. 

That, and it would have been _absurdly_ unfair of him to take advantage of her when she was so obviously confused and hurting. He wanted nothing more than to be able to comfort her, but she still wasn’t there, wasn’t telling him the truth. 

She’d vaguely danced around her problems, freaked out over a bracelet she’d obviously thrown to the floor—something was going on and instead of trying to figure it out and help her, he’d given in to his jealously and his base desires and tried to kiss her. 

Cullen reached the bitter cold outside the Great Hall and inhaled deeply, the air prickling his lungs. He would do better tomorrow; he would seek her out and she’d _talk_ to him and something—anything—genuine and real would come out of it. She would not be able to avoid it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo fast update because I had this mostly written already. But I know, I know. Slow burn/UST feels. (hopefully) But I consider this the "tipping point" (for communication, at least!)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday! Have a long goober of a chapter.

When Katria awoke, there was already an absurdly bad headache growing with full force right between her eyes. After mentally regretting all her decisions ever, she groaned as soon as she lifted her head off the pillow.

She rolled over onto her side and tried to untangle herself from the network of blankets wrapped around her. As she was sitting up and examining the light pouring through from her balcony, she heard her door fly open. Katria winced at the noise. 

The click of Josie’s shoes was unmistakable, and even though Katria didn’t hear anything, she assumed Leliana was trailing behind her. 

“What a smashing success!” Josie exclaimed as she reached the top of the stairs. “You didn’t dance with Cullen, and there was one little outburst, but what praise we’ve received!” 

Katria pulled a blanket over her head. “Good morning to you, too.” 

Someone walked over and tugged on her covers. Katria reluctantly relinquished her hold on them while Leliana peered down at her. “How are you feeling?” she asked. 

“Fine,” Katria said, pushing herself up. “Great.” 

Leliana hummed unconvinced in response, before plucking something from the table beside the bed. “Oh my.” 

Katria rubbed her eyes sleepily and then squinted. She made a strangled noise and snatched the handkerchief in Leliana’s hand away. It was the one Cullen had given to her last night after her…tearful ramblings. 

“I—no,” Katria sputtered. “This is…nothing.” 

Leliana bent over. “Did you have sex with Cullen?” she hissed—she had apparently noticed his initials on it. 

Josie gasped and scurried over. “What?” 

“No!” she insisted, throwing the covers off her. “ _No_.” Katria jumped off the bed and grabbed her robe, sliding it on and tying it around her waist. “Why would you just _immediately_ assume—it’s just a handkerchief! He let me borrow it.” 

Leliana crossed her arms over her chest. “Your attendant told me he was in here.” 

“Well-,” Katria put her hand on her hip. “Well, fine. Yes. He was here. Nothing happened.” She trotted to the set of chairs near her fireplace and plopped down into one. “Moving on,” she said stubbornly. 

Josephine and Leliana exchanged looks, but followed her over and sat down. “You actually want to talk politics?” Josie asked with an arched brow. 

Katria rested her fingers against her temple. “I want to talk about Vivienne. What else has she been doing?”

“Tapping into her influence in the Orlesian court,” Josie replied. “But she’s found herself few friends considering our recent actions—your relationship with Celene and Laurent.” 

“What about with the Keepers?” she asked. “She ordered them to go to South Reach!” 

Leliana crossed her legs. “No—she didn’t _order_ them. She has publicly disavowed their violent tactics, called them uncouth, like she does.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “But she _said_ -,”

“Yes, I am aware,” Leliana interrupted, with a wave of her hand. “She is a powerful player and likely contacted a former Chantry member who is now with the Keepers and simply _encouraged_ them to go to South Reach.” 

“It was a minor part of her strategy,” Josie remarked. “A fluke.” 

Katria frowned and leaned back against her chair. “It’s unconscionable.” 

Leliana pressed her fingers together. “You’re letting her get to you,” she said. “Her plan didn’t work—that would be absurd.” 

She stared down at the ends of her thick cotton robe. _Absurd_ , she repeated to herself, willfully ignoring what she remembered about last night. Maker, she’d said some bold things. And then he’d been touching her—it probably would have all gone to the Void if her poor attendant hadn’t interrupted. That girl probably deserved a raise. 

Katria cringed thinking about how furious Cullen would have been if they would’ve kissed and then she told him about her possible…probable marriage to Laurent Ghislain. He wouldn’t want to touch her after she explained the situation to him, she was sure, since he could be so morally fucking righteous sometimes.

“I realize it didn’t work,” Katria said petulantly. “But it’s the principle. Cullen should not have been dragged into this.” 

“There is plenty of collateral damage when you play the Game, Inquisitor,” Leliana remarked. 

“Yeah, I noticed,” Katria muttered, thinking that the collateral damage from last night was that she was going to have to _talk_ to Cullen about her drunken outburst. She leaned her elbow against the arm of her chair. “Let’s ramp up our efforts against Vivienne, keep in strong contact with the Chantry, even if they don’t reply.” 

Leliana cleared her throat. “I’m saying this knowing your response, but our efforts against Vivienne could include a contract. On her life.” 

Katria’s neck snapped up. “No way,” she said with a glare. “Maker’s breath—no fucking way. I am not a murderer.” She sighed impatiently. “Alright, _fine_. I am sometimes, but I’m not going to kill someone just because of politics. It’s obscene. She and I were friends once.”

Leliana raised a pale hand. “I’m just covering all our options per my duty as Spymaster.” 

“I know,” Katria said. “I didn’t mean to snap.” 

“Oh, Inquisitor, it’s alright,” Josephine said with a kind smile. “We know you’ve had a trying time. You need rest.” 

“I need distraction,” she replied. “A cure for my headache.” 

Josephine slid some reports off her writing board onto the table in front of her. “Well, if you’re in need of a distraction…” 

Katria groaned, her eyes already burning at the thought of reading scrawled handwriting, even as nice as Josephine’s, when she felt so poorly. And had so many other things on her mind. Had _Cullen_ on her mind. 

They discussed a few more intricacies of the evening; Katria reminded Josie to send the extra food from the banquet down to the servant’s quarters, to the families who lived outside Skyhold in the burgeoning town that had grown outside their castle. 

The three of them, regrettably, also covered Laurent’s very positive reaction to Katria—a fact that she tried to ignore, to little avail. She did not want to consider how nice Laurent actually was. More importantly, she didn’t want to acknowledge that other people needed to know about the two of them. Cullen, specifically. 

Katria knew, deep down, she’d have to tell him eventually. Today, probably. 

===

There was something entirely unsurprising about the fact that Cullen found Katria alone in the shallow valley beside Skyhold picking herbs the morning after the ball. When he had inquired about her whereabouts to some members of her personal guard, they had given him wide-eyed looks, saying that _she_ had told _them_ she would be spending time with some of the remaining guests from the ball, including him and his family. He gave them a few very brusque words reprimanding them for their lax behavior before he remembered someone _else_ technically had that job. 

A fresh blanket of snow had fallen around the castle—one last burst of cold as spring crept forth from the slowly-thawing ground. Cullen exited the portcullis and walked in the opposite direction of the barracks to the valley, which this time of year was a white sheet of ice interspersed with thin, barren trees. Katria was plainly visible, trotting along with a basket in hand and periodically stopping to pull up herb stalks. The cold wind buffeted her cloak sideways as she stood. 

Cullen hiked through the snow to her—she must have heard the crunching of his boots because she turned and furrowed her brow. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. 

“I am here to ask you that exact question,” he replied.

Katria lifted the basket tucked under her arm. “I’m picking herbs.” 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Because clearly the garden _full_ of herbs in the warm comfort of Skyhold is not enough of a supply?”

“One can never have enough elfroot,” she said before walking a few feet away to another errant stalk. 

Cullen followed her. “I wanted to find you, Katria. To see if you’re alright.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be alright?” she asked absently, as she packed her newest leaves into her basket. 

He maneuvered himself so he was in front of her. “Running away from your problems—distracting yourself from them by picking herbs—does not make them go away.”

“I am not avoiding anything,” she said as she stood to face him. “I’m merely doing my part as a member of the Inquisition.” 

Cullen held a hand up to stop her from moving forward. “You had quite a bit to drink last night. Do you…remember anything?” 

Katria did not meet his gaze. “No,” she said. “Nothing at all.” 

Cullen was almost, _almost_ relieved. The logical part of his brain told him he was lucky—the slip-up from last night, the fact that he almost kissed her, could be forgotten, and everything could stay the same. Then there was disappointment that she didn’t remember, that they couldn’t pick up where they left off. 

“I embarrassed myself, though, I’m sure,” Katria added, as she reached into her pocket, searching for something. “I found this.” She was holding his handkerchief in her hand, his embroidered initials clearly visible. Her thumb ran across the black, blotted stains along the edges. 

“You were upset,” Cullen said. 

“I was drunk.” 

He dropped his hand. “The things you said-,”

“Are not worth talking about now,” she finished, then unfolded the handkerchief. “I’ll clean this up for you, and then give it back before you leave.” 

“No,” he said hastily, his cheeks flushing at his abruptness. “I mean—I have a million of them. From Ros. You…could keep it, if you wanted.” 

She fiddled with the cloth in her hand, before sucking in her lower lip behind her teeth. “I suppose I could.” 

Cullen reached back and rubbed his neck that was cold to the touch. That was too much, probably. Too forward. He found himself caring less about that than he should. 

Katria pivoted on one foot and trotted over to another clump of elfroot. “Do you plan on continuing to distract me from my very important work?” she asked. 

“I’m not giving up that easily,” he said. 

Katria was crouched down, not facing him. He took only one step forward before he saw her spin around in a gray blur. A ball of snow hit him directly in the chest; he was not wearing his armor, so he felt the impact acutely. 

“What was _that_ for?” he blurted out, staring down at the flecks of snow now attached to his jacket. 

She looked over her shoulder at him and grinned. She hurled another one in his direction, and he ducked, the snowball sailing over his head and plopping into the white drifts behind him. 

“I warned you—I said I was busy,” she said. 

He smirked. “You are acting like a child.” 

“I think you love it.”

Katria faced the ground and gathered up another clump of snow in her hand. She tossed it, and it hit his arm as he tried to move out of the way. 

“You’re not going to fight back?” she asked impishly. 

“I am over thirty years old,” he said, brushing the leftover flakes off his arm. “I do not throw snowballs.”

“My apologies,” she said as she stood, hands on her hips. “I thought after a few years with your nieces and nephews you’d at least be a little more fun.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he replied. Cullen watched her turn back around to pluck some more leaves from the ground. He didn’t want to encourage her—this avoidance—but it would not hurt for her to have fun, either. He gathered up a clump of snow and crept forward, dropping it down the back of her tunic and cloak. 

Katria squealed and with a violent twist, wrested from his grasp. She straightened and flailed around, trying to open up her shirt so the snow would fall out. A loud laugh burst from Cullen’s lungs, and he bent over with his hand on his stomach. 

“Not cool, Rutherford!” she snapped, flinging some unpacked snow in his face.

He dodged sideways and grinned. “Actually, it is cool. Cold, even.” 

“Prick!” 

Katria tossed more snow in his direction. Wind whipped through the valley and carried it up. Cullen watched it drift past him before he felt something slam into his chest and send him sliding through the ice on his back. 

Katria made a triumphant noise as she sat on him. She gathered up some snow and stuffed it down his shirt. The biting cold against his chest shocked him, and he made some very embarrassing and un-masculine noises. When she reached down for more snow, he had the leverage to swing his leg around her and roll them. 

She squirmed underneath him, burying them both deeper in the snow drifts, but he had her pinned. He shivered when he felt the melting snow in his shirt trickle down his stomach to the waist of his breeches.

“No more distractions,” he said sternly. 

“Oh, I’m finding many things about this distracting,” she replied with a raised eyebrow and a wiggle of her hips. 

Cullen cleared his throat; he was glad for the intense cold around him. “Um—Maker, don’t do that.” 

Katria giggled. “Why not? You did. Or almost did.” 

“ _I_ did?” he began with a furrowed brow. 

Her eyes widened slightly. “No, wait, I didn’t-,”

“You _do_ remember last night!” Cullen exclaimed. 

Katria slumped back, boneless. “Oh—oh, _fine_. Yes. I do.” 

“Why did you lie?” he asked. 

She gave him a critical look. “Because I don’t want to talk about it?”

“Of course you don’t,” he muttered, shifting backwards to sit up straight on her. “That is simply too bad. You’re stuck here and-,”

Katria shot up and rammed her hands into him, forcing him sideways as her nimble legs slid out from under him. She rolled then sprung to her feet. “Yes, the _rogue_ is stuck in the clutches of the giant, clumsy warrior.” 

Cullen rubbed his side and stood. “I was trying to play nice.” 

“And look how far that got you,” Katria replied, lifting up her abandoned basket. “Well, Cullen, this has been great, but I have to-,” 

“Are you _leaving_?” Cullen asked exasperatedly.

She lifted her hand in a placating gesture. “I’m the Inquisitor. I have a very busy schedule. I can’t just—just trounce around in the snow to my heart’s content.” 

Cullen followed her as she trekked through the ice back to Skyhold. “So this is your plan? Just pretend none of this ever happened?” 

“Of course not,” she replied. “I _acknowledge_ what happened. I’m just not interested in discussing it.” 

Katria’s pace was brisk, so they reached the portcullis in a matter of minutes. There was an Inquisition messenger searching the area, who perked up when he saw her. He saluted. 

“Inquisitor.” 

Katria accepted the scrolled parchment she was handed with a smile. “See,” she said, turning to Cullen and waving the letter in her hand. “Very busy.” 

“Maker’s breath, but you are the most insufferable woman in Thedas.”

“I think you like the challenge,” she replied, turning slightly away from him. She hesitated and bit her lip, her eyes flicking back to him. “I’ll be—by the stables this afternoon, if it matters.” She took a few steps across the courtyard before turning around again. “And, thank you for…checking on me. I actually had fun. Which hasn’t happened in a while.” 

“I will find you later,” he said, which made her smile—and Maker’s breath, if she didn’t smile so much maybe he wouldn’t think about kissing her so often. 

Katria was approached by another messenger and handed off her basket after accepting a second letter. She waved him to and hiked up the stairs leading to the Great Hall. Cullen turned away and rubbed his neck. He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d had fun too. Fun with an insufferable woman. But still. 

===

Like she promised, Katria was around the stables in the afternoon after tending to a slew of post-banquet Inquisition business. Picking herbs that morning had not been distracting enough—she needed more. To really knock the shit out of something to forget about all the wrong things in her life. Blackwall volunteered to help her with that when she joined him chopping fire wood—a task she hadn’t participated in too often. 

Katria swung the axe high above her head and brought it down, where it landed beside the piece of wood with a _thunk_. Blackwall put his hand on his stomach and laughed heartily. 

“You have to hit the wood, my lady,” he said. 

Katria wiggled the axe out of the large trunk and staggered back when it popped up. “I’m _trying_ ,” she said with a smile. “It’s harder than it looks.” 

“Bend your knees and don’t use your back so much.” 

Katria spun the axe around her hand in a large circle. “Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, setting her feet. Her next attempt went a little better—she hit the piece of wood, but had not applied enough force, so it just wobbled and then fell over with her axe still in it. 

Blackwall chuckled again, until one of her personal guards jogged up. 

“Ser,” he said. 

Blackwall accepted the report handed to him and began to read it. In the meanwhile, Katria pried her axe from the wood and centered it back on the trunk. When she lifted her head, someone else had approached. 

“C-Cullen!” she squeaked out, locking eyes with him as he stood awkwardly a few feet away. She raised her free hand to her hair, trying to soothe down the unruly waves that were unbraided since Bailey had not visited her that morning. She looked frumpy, probably, in an old tunic and breeches, sweaty and covered in wood splinters. 

He smiled at her anyway. “Ah, yes—good afternoon, Inquisitor. I was…” He took a step forward, then glanced over at Blackwall. “I was hoping to talk to you, if you aren’t busy.” 

Katria, too, looked at Blackwall, who lowered the report in his hand. “I have to go deal with this guard schedule,” he said gruffly. “Stack the wood in the stables.” 

Blackwall was clearly glaring at Cullen—he said he did not _appreciate_ the way Cullen had looked at her last night—and strode past him across the courtyard. 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “The captain of your guard still does not approve of me.” 

Katria let the axe fall to the ground by the sheared tree stump. “My approval is what matters.” 

She walked over to the splintered wood that they—Blackwall—had already chopped. 

“And?” Cullen said. 

Katria looked up as she stacked some logs in her arms. “What?” 

He was blushing the smallest amount. “ _Do_ you, um, approve of me?” 

She smiled slightly. “Help me with this, and I’d probably tolerate you.” 

Cullen snorted and walked over to help her. He gathered the rest of the wood and followed her into the barn. Katria stacked it all in a neat pile, slowly, trying not to think about the fact that when she stood, she’d have to…have _words_ for Cullen. She sighed quietly and pushed herself to her feet to face him. 

He noticed her reluctance. “Katria, I…have no interest in being bothersome or intrusive,” he said. “But I _am_ worried for you.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, still trying to soothe down her hair. “There’s nothing to be concerned about, though.” 

Cullen stepped closer to her—despite the cold outside, the air felt charged and warm between them. It was shadowy except for the fire from Blackwall’s hearth and the light streaming in from the window above them where she could see dust and wood particles floating in lazy circles.

“I just want you to talk to me,” Cullen said softly, when she didn’t reply. 

Katria clenched her fists, frustrated because the truth had to come out now, and she hated how much it would hurt. “Maker’s balls, Cullen. You _say_ you want that, but…” 

“But what?” he asked. “How could I not want you to-,” 

“I’m getting _married_ ,” she ground out. 

Cullen didn’t respond immediately; instead, his brow wrinkled deeply, his head recoiling. “What?” he said, sounding a little dumb-struck. “You’re—you’re _what_?” 

“Married,” she repeated with a strangled noise. “ _That’s_ why I’ve been so upset. That’s why I tried to—to drink myself into oblivion last night. I’m supposed to be in negotiations to marry Duke Laurent Ghislain.” 

“I-,” Cullen swallowed. “How could you not tell me this sooner?” 

Katria sighed. “I just…” She threw up her hands. “I didn’t want to acknowledge that it was happening a-and I’m still trying to…do _something_ to avoid it, but…” 

He put his hands on his hips and dropped his head. “Maker’s breath,” he said hoarsely. “Last night, if we…there was…” 

Katria felt tears pricking her eyes and she fiercely clenched her jaw to keep them from breaking through. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the firm muscles in his arm. 

“That’s not all,” she said. “I— _Maker_. I was upset because my conversation with Vivienne was…I found out that she encouraged the Keepers to target South Reach to lure me there. To see _you_. She hoped that I would somehow fall for you again and have more incentive to turn Laurent down. That’s why I’m marrying him in the first place: to minimize Vivienne’s influence. She wants to prevent it.”

“Are you serious?” he asked with an astonished tone. He shook his head. “That’s…” 

“I’m so sorry, Cullen,” she whispered. “I never wanted you dragged into this ridiculous game.” 

Cullen reached up and gently brushed his fingers across her hand. “It’s not your fault,” he replied. “ _I_ should be the one seeking forgiveness. I never would have tried to kiss you if I would have known it might interfere with the Inquisition’s political interests.” 

Katria bit her lip. “Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you. Because I wanted you to do that.”

“R-Really?”

She winced and rested her forehead against his shoulder. “Oh, Maker’s balls, I don’t know,” she said, then paused. “I mean, yes, I _do_ know. I _want_ to kiss you. You’re so frustratingly handsome. You could just roll up your sleeves and I’d lose it.” 

Katria peeked sideways at him; he was red up to the tips of his ears, his mouth twitching to hold back a smile. She caught him sparing a glance at his arms, which were exposed because the sleeves of his tunic were, in fact, rolled up.

His eyes softened. “It’s not that simple, though, is it?” 

“No,” she said, loosening her grip on him. “No, it’s not.” 

“Are you _really_ going to…” Cullen vaguely waved his hands, apparently lacking the courage to finish his question. 

Katria rubbed her eyes with her fingers. “It’s not like I _want_ to. Maybe I’m being selfish, but I don’t want my life to be taken over that way.” She dropped her hand. “I don’t think I have a choice, though. All these reforms I worked so hard for could be reversed if Vivienne keeps pushing, especially considering how much time she’s spent with Cassandra. A-And how little Cassandra in turn has spoken to me.”

Her voice cracked slightly and she sniffed. “A-All that was _before_ you showed up, and before you showed up _because_ of Vivienne.”

“I would never want to make things more difficult for you,” he said, turning his body so he was facing her fully, his fingers just touching a lock of her hair before he withdrew his hand. “What can I do to help?” 

“Be less handsome?” she suggested, then gave a harsh laugh. “Have a worse personality, too, just to be safe.”

“Worse personality? I’ll start on that right away,” he said—because _of course_ he took her seriously in his own adorable way. He mussed up his hair and pulled his sleeves to his wrists. “First off, you have a terrible sense of humor,” he said. 

She tried to keep herself from giggling. “Oh yes. That’s good.” 

“I’ve always been unimpressed with your combat skills,” he added. 

She nodded. “Very nice.” 

“You have weirdly-shaped ears,” he said. “And your hands are just so large.” 

Katria thwacked him across the chest. “Arse.” 

He smirked. “So it’s working?”

“Yeah, I definitely want to punch you in the jaw,” she said, lifting her gaze. 

He searched her face for a few moments before his lips twisted uncomfortably. “I really don’t mean those things,” he blurted out. “You’re the most-,” 

“Cullen!”

He lifted his hands. “Alright, I’m sorry,” he said. “What I meant to say was—Katria, you are just the _worst_.”

“Better,” she said. “Keep going.” 

His nostrils flared as he exhaled, his expression suddenly serious. “I definitely do _not_ want to touch your hair-,” His tongue darted out and wet his lower lip. “-o-or push you up against the wall and kiss you.” 

A small squeak died in Katria’s chest because _that_ was not a part of their game, and it fanned the _already_ burning desire she had for him hidden in the pit of her stomach. She remembered the events from last night, how warm his hand had felt against her neck, and how she’d let all those words tumble out of her mouth because of how badly she wanted him. Katria had thought telling him about Laurent would have changed his mind, but it…apparently hadn’t.

She cleared her throat. “Well I certainly wouldn’t want to—to _respond_ to those advances or put my arms around your…your scrawny and muscle deficient shoulders.”

Cullen took a step closer to her, so that they shared the same air, the tips of his boots touching hers. His expression was stoic—surprising, given the fact that _her_ pulse was thrumming so erratically. 

“And you probably wouldn’t wrap your legs around my waist-,” 

“Oh, no,” she said quickly, thankful her voice didn’t crack. “No, my legs probably wouldn’t even fit around that u-unattractive gut of yours.” 

Cullen grinned and took another step, forcing her back. The wall was right there; when she put her hand behind her, she could feel the splintered wood against her fingertips. 

“Of course, this is all entirely academic speculation because-,” She nervously pushed her hair behind her ear. “Obviously you wouldn’t—wouldn’t _ever_ consider kissing someone as thin-lipped as me.” 

“You’re right,” he said, even as he leaned closer. “I don’t want to. Not even…" His eyes flickered to her lips, the same carefully-restrained desire from last night still there. "-just once.” 

_Once_ , her stupid, treacherous mind told her. _One time. One little kiss._

“Not even once,” she whispered. Even for her height, he seemed so large around her, so broad across his chest and shoulders. He was not touching her, but his boot had slid up further, right between her own feet.

Cullen let out a hot breath of air, and he was so near it fanned across her face. He clenched and unclenched his fists before he raised his hand to her cheek, his liquid gold eyes searching hers. He wasn’t breathing anymore, just waiting with his vulnerable, open, _loving_ face, and she couldn’t say anything, so she nodded almost imperceptibly—but he got it, and leaned in, while she closed her eyes. 

The next thing she felt was his warm mouth pressed to hers; Cullen was gentle—it was more of a brush or a passing glance. Still, she trembled from it and made a small noise in her throat, telling him she wanted _more_. He shuffled closer, one hand resting on the curve of her waist and the other sliding back into her hair to anchor their lips together as he pressed harder. 

Katria let out a breath through her nose that she didn’t know she’d been holding as she melted against him, her arm snaking around his strong shoulders. She felt his lips part and his tongue swipe across the line of her mouth. The desire that coursed through her made her knees buckle a little. She clenched her fingers in his shirt because she needed _something_ to hold onto, otherwise the gentle scrape of his teeth against her lip would turn her into a puddle. 

The groan Cullen made when she opened her mouth to him was lost in their deepening kiss. Her hand slid from his chest to his neck when he shoved their bodies completely together against the wall, the wood planks shuddering behind her from the force of it. 

Katria had a lot of thoughts, then, while kissing him fervently and feeling the full press of his chest against hers. She panicked about the fact that they were in such a public place, hidden in the corner of a barn with two huge doors, even as she encouraged Cullen with a moan when his hand slid from her waist up to her breast. She remembered that her intended was still in Skyhold, probably waiting to have tea with her, with absolutely no awareness of the fact that the great _Inquisitor_ was covered in sweat and wood shavings and rutting against another man’s leg as he slid it between her thighs. She also thought about how wonderful Cullen tasted, how much she’d missed the way his mouth moved against hers. 

He broke away from her and descended on her neck, giving her a chance to drink in some air and then mewl and whimper when he sucked on the sensitive spot near her ear. He sunk his teeth gingerly and briefly into her skin before running his tongue over where he’d surely left a mark. Katria tilted her head back and arched her body against him. 

She felt a stream of cool air on her neck as he pulled away slightly. “Maker’s breath, woman, tell me to stop,” he growled. 

She gripped his disheveled hair between her fingers and shook her head. “No, don’t stop, Cullen.”

He sighed roughly and leaned back even as she squirmed against him—always full of more self-control than she’d ever been. His hand found her cheek again, and he caught his breath for a few moments with his brow furrowed. “Katria,” he said, his expression sad. “What are you going to do?”

“Ask you to keep kissing me?” she replied.

His head moved infinitesimally closer before he stopped himself. “You _know_ I shouldn’t do that,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Katria, we can’t. Not when I'm leaving so soon. Not when you're...you're supposed to be getting _married_.”

She fell back flat onto her feet. There were tears in her eyes now, blurring his face. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I want to help you—not make things worse.” 

She buried her face in the crook of his neck. “You’re not making anything worse. We’ve had a handful of conversations and a kiss,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t turn my back on Laurent for that.”

“I don’t want you to,” Cullen said—honorable and practical, as always. 

“What _do_ you want?” she asked. 

He tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “I want you to be happy, but I don’t—know how to achieve that,” he said. “I’m not sure I’m a person that can bring you happiness because we…” 

“Live so far apart? Didn’t work out before? Have spent so little time together now?” she replied. "It's a long list." Cullen bowed his head and untangled himself from her while she continued. “Your friendship and support means a lot to me, Cullen, and it _has_ made me happy.” 

“I’m glad,” he said. “I feel the same about you.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “So—can we be far apart, and friends? Physical attraction won’t be so much of an issue when you’re all the way in South Reach.” 

Cullen blushed at that. “Maker, I’m sorry I kissed you,” he said as he pushed back his hair. “I shouldn’t-,” 

“I enjoyed it,” Katria replied—she was probably underplaying that fact. “And it’s not a big deal.” She gestured between them. “We cleared the air, and no one cares who I kiss as long as I marry for politics in the end.” 

She lifted her head and smiled at him. “I’m not under any delusions that our visits have made you fall in love with me or made you ready to duel Laurent for my hand in marriage. Though that wouldn’t work anyway.” 

“Right,” he said sheepishly, rubbing his neck before he dropped his hand with a heavy exhale. “But I wish there was—I just hate to see you married off to some Orlesian. You never wanted that.”

Her eyes drifted to the ground. “I am…considering all my other options at this point, but like I said, I can’t—I made history with those reforms, Cullen. Progress that hasn’t existed for hundreds of years.” She shook her head. “If I have to marry a man I don’t love to defend them, I…I guess I will. Have to.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

Katria rubbed her arm. “It’s alright,” she insisted. “Laurent is…nice. I’ll adjust.” 

Cullen stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, squeezing her tightly. She held him back by his waist. “I’ll support you,” he said. “I’ll write you letters all the time. Anything you need to help you get through.” 

Her throat tightened and she rested her forehead against his shoulder. “Thank you, Cullen,” she whispered, even though a small part of her knew it probably wasn’t enough. Because she hadn’t had the courage to present the whole truth to him—the painful parts she didn’t want to think about. Her political connection to Laurent was about heirs, too; how could Katria confide in Cullen about _that_? Bearing and raising another man’s children? Would she be able to handle it? 

Katria slid from his grasp and tried to smile, tried to forget. “I should have dinner tonight with your family before you all leave.” 

“I agree,” Cullen said. “As long as you promise not to mention the…incident with Bailey and Thomas. The poor lad came to me this morning almost in tears, begging me to not tell his mother about it.”

Katria snorted. “Like Mia hasn’t already figured it out already.” 

“Fair point,” he replied with a laugh. “Either way, they’d love to see you. I would too.” 

Katria felt a blush rising to her cheeks and kicked her foot in the dirt. She didn’t exactly know what to do—then just decided to fuck it and do what she wanted because that hadn’t happened enough lately. She gave Cullen her best smile, which seemed to unnerve him a little, and kissed his cheek. 

“Excellent,” she said. “I’ll see you then. I’m off to meet with Rylen. I fear he might still be in hiding from some noble ladies.” 

Cullen touched the spot she’d put her lips, then gave a bashful grin. “Right—yes. Farewell, Katria.” 

She waved to him as she disappeared through one of the large doors leading back into the courtyard. Katria was happier than she’d been before—a productive conversation and a…somewhat uncomplicated kiss could do that. But, she also hated there was nothing Cullen could do about the sadness that haunted her—she hated there was nothing _she_ could do about it.

Marrying Laurent was...her duty; she couldn’t turn him down because she wanted to, or even because of Cullen. Not that she’d _want_ to turn Laurent down because of Cullen. Though a small part of her did whisper, so treacherously, that especially now, after their kiss, if she and Cullen were just given a little more time, they might find greater emotional compatibility that would make her want desperately to reject Laurent for him. Katria was glad it was only a whisper—she could tune it out because that simply couldn't happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all problems solved, but some problems addressed hopefully. For now. I *was* going to split this into two chapters since it came out so long, but everyone has been so nice and great, I figured, what the hell, have it all at once!


	19. Chapter 19

Katria returned to her quarters and replied to some messages before Rylen sent _another_ messenger requesting her presence. She grumbled in response to his uncharacteristic impatience, but exited her rooms and crossed the Great Hall to his office. 

She smiled at Rylen as he sat behind his desk. “I think it’s safe to go outside now,” she remarked. “You want to walk the battlements?” 

Rylen stood, his fingers slowly rubbing the tattoo under his chin. “Let’s stay here.” 

“Oh—why?” she asked. 

He hesitated. “I’m rather afraid you’re going to punch me in the face.” 

Katria gave a short laugh and walked over to lean against his desk—it was _not_ the ever-sturdy desk she and Cullen had…been together on years ago. She’d had that one moved on Rylen’s first day as Commander. 

“Oh, come now, Rylen, I could never hurt you.” 

He cleared his throat and fiddled with a letter folded in half on his desk. “You _say_ that…” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest, her brow furrowed. She was a little concerned now—Rylen was always straight to the point, and he was hesitating. 

“While you were out in South Reach, I got some…” A smile pulled at his lip. “Some pretty good news.” He looked up at her. “Elizabeth is pregnant.” 

Katria straightened, instinctively beaming. “Rylen, that’s fantastic! Congratulations! I am so-,” She stopped, her breath getting caught in her throat. Elizabeth, Rylen’s wife. A very tall, kind warrior with his same dry sense of humor. Who lived in _Starkhaven_.

“Rylen…” she finished shakily. 

He rounded his desk with his hands raised. “Katria, this was not planned at all. We had no plans to have children this soon—we weren’t even trying. Elizabeth had been back in Starkhaven for a month before she—she realized what was happening.” He stopped in front of her. “It was always my plan to convince her to return to Skyhold with me and leave the Guard.” 

“And now?” she squeaked out. 

Rylen sighed. “Her entire family lives there. My five brothers. She…” 

“Wants you to return to Starkhaven,” Katria muttered, putting her hand on her forehead. She began pacing and clenched her fist. “Good call on the private meeting. I _do_ want to punch you.” She made an exasperated noise. “Fuck, I mean, I’m happy for you, of course, but for Andraste’s _sake_ …” 

“I know, I know,” Rylen said. “I know the situation is not ideal, but Elizabeth wants to raise the child around our families, and Starkhaven is likely more…stable of a home than Skyhold.” He turned to his desk and gathered up some papers. “I have complied a list of possible candidates for my position-,” 

“You don’t have to leave,” Katria interjected weakly. 

He shook his head. “You know how demanding this job is, Inquisitor—I can’t do it from the Free Marches; or at least do it as well as it deserves to be done.” He reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “I promise that I will remain here as long as it takes for the new person to get…acclimated.” 

“Yes, fine,” Katria said, taking the papers from his hand. She couldn’t open them and waved her hand impatiently. “Maker, Rylen—just, fuck. I like you! I don’t want you to leave!” 

She wanted to ask, _how could you_ , but she was supposed to be happy for him—a married man in his 30’s having a child was not an unreasonable thing. It was a _great_ thing, even though Katria felt acutely she’d never have that. 

It also worried her because yet another member of the Inquisition was leaving—another layer being peeled away. She’d known all along, before defeating Corypheus, that it would happen to her inner-circle, but the mass exodus of her advisors was unsettling. Cullen, Rylen. It was only a matter of time before Josie’s family affairs and her insufferable fiancée dragged her away back to Antiva. She _needed_ them. 

“Katria, my business with the Inquisition is not done, nor will I stop being your friend,” Rylen insisted warmly. “I just can’t be the Commander anymore.” 

She exhaled a short breath through her mouth. “I know, I know,” she muttered, then lifted up the papers in her hand. Her brow furrowed upon reading it. “This list is…very short.” 

“My job is a demanding one,” Rylen replied. 

Katria had a sinking feeling in her stomach. It was a mere stroke of luck that after Cullen left, Rylen—a man so equally talented—was waiting in the wings. Certainly, the Inquisition’s other lieutenants were capable, but this job required a dedication and depth of passion that was not common. She sighed. 

“I will consider your suggestions,” she said. “But you will be sorely missed.” 

Rylen folded his arms over his chest, appraising her. “I should mention that my list is…lacking one particular candidate for the job.” 

“Who?” she asked, then immediately regretted opening her mouth because she damn well knew the answer. She dropped her arm to her side. “Rylen.” 

He shrugged noncommittally. “It is merely another option to-,”

“ _Rylen_.”

“Do not act like it is unreasonable for me to suggest that the next Commander of the Inquisition be the _first_ Commander of the Inquisition,” he said, taking a step back. Probably for his own safety. 

Katria crinkled the paper in her hand and felt her shoulders tensing. “You want me to ask _Cullen_ if he wants his job back?” 

“Yes,” he replied, resting his hip against his desk. “You two seem to be getting along much better, and he has his lyrium withdrawal under control. The unit he created in South Reach can be absorbed and outfitted by the Inquisition. Still under his command.” 

“Oh so you’ve _thought_ about this?” Katria shot back. 

He shook his head. “You might not want to hear it, but I think recruiting Cullen is your best option.” He reached up and scratched his chin. “If I’m _completely_ honest, he was better at this job than I was.”

“Rylen, don’t-,” 

He waved his hand. “Ah, don’t worry about compliments, lass. Either way, he is the best option other than me.” 

“That’s not-,” Katria tapered off, unable to say _that’s not true_ because that would require her to explain that she’d _kissed Cullen an hour ago_ and now she felt like the Maker was playing one big, practical joke on her. 

What was so frustrating was that things had been worked out between she and Cullen—sexual tension acknowledged and dispensed of because it wasn’t practical, friendship established, distance agreed upon, and _now_? Now, the rules of the game had changed, and Cullen would be much closer and present than was probably prudent given her other political circumstances. 

Of course, that assumed Cullen would even accept the job when she asked. _If_ she asked. 

Katria scrubbed the bridge of her nose. “Why don’t _you_ offer him the job?” 

“You are the Inquisitor,” Rylen replied. “It’s your authority that makes him Commander.” He smiled slightly. “Plus, I feel you might be a little more convincing.” 

Katria huffed. “I doubt that.” 

Rylen drummed his fingers against his desk. “You might be surprised,” he said. “He loved his job.” 

She just snorted in response because she was well aware of that. Rylen grabbed another piece of parchment and handed it to her. 

“My formal resignation,” he explained. 

Katria glared at him. “You think I’ll accept this?” 

“Unless you want to deal with an angry, hormonal pregnant woman, I think you will,” he replied with a grin. 

She snatched the letter from him. “Fine,” she said, stuffing it into her pocket. “I’m—you know—still happy for you. But also mad at you. Mostly happy. Still mad.” 

“So you’ll talk to Cullen today?” Rylen asked. 

“T-Today?” Katria began incredulously. “Why, I mean, that’s…” 

He furrowed his brow. “He’s here now, and leaving tomorrow—you should give him time to consider, though I’ll doubt he’ll need it.” 

“Sure, right,” she said, rubbing her neck. “But— _today_?”

Rylen narrowed his eyes to study her. “Why do you look so nervous?” 

“I’m—I’m not _nervous_ ,” Katria said hastily. “Like you said, Cullen and I are getting along. Like normal people. Friends.” Friends who kissed an hour ago, but still. 

He looked unconvinced, but returned to the other side of his desk. “I’ll let Josie and Leliana know about my departure this evening,” he said. “We will, of course, keep this between ourselves until you’ve found a suitable replacement. We can discuss logistics tomorrow in the War Room.” 

Katria nodded, wondering how long she could delay beginning her discussion with Cullen about this potential job opportunity. She rested her hands on her hips, noticing how her heart was beating so much faster; between every _thud_ she told herself that this wasn’t really happening, that the Maker would not be so cruel to her. 

Though, considering the crackling green mark on her hand and her battle against Corypheus, the Maker never seemed to care much about her personal preferences anyway. 

===

After his conversation with Katria by the stables, Cullen returned to his room. Branson was there, rifling through his clothes, probably trying to find something suitable to wear if he encountered any of the many ladies he talked to the evening before. 

Bran looked up when he strode through the door. “You know, for a man who used to have such a prestigious job, you really don’t have enough fancy clothes.” 

Cullen just grunted in response and crossed the room to the small table by the window. He put his palms flat against it and looked outside—the garden sprawled out below him, and he tried to find comfort in it. 

Bran began putting Cullen’s tunics back haphazardly where he’d found them. His voice had a playful lilt to it. “I saw you and the Inquisitor by the stables.” 

“We were just talking,” Cullen said gruffly. “Leave it alone.” 

“Talking?” Bran began with a grin. “Are you sure you weren’t pining? The way you looked at her last-,” 

“I said knock it _off_ , Bran!” Cullen interrupted angrily, snapping his neck around to glare at his brother. 

Bran furrowed his brow and raised one hand. “Whoa, okay, sorry.” He paused and stepped closer. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m…” Cullen’s eyes drifted back to the window, his mouth set in a hard line. He was not even a _little_ alright. He was angry and disappointed and resistant to all that at once. Katria was getting married, and he was trying so hard to be a better man about it. He knew he was supposed to have honor, to keep his distance—what else could he do? 

Was Cullen supposed to ask her to spurn Laurent because he _might_ be growing emotionally attached her? An emotional attachment he’d had before that had been completely severed years ago? 

He gave a strangled sigh. “I’m fine.” 

Bran sat down on the side of the bed closest to him. “Come on, Cullen. You can tell me.” 

Cullen scraped his fingernails across the splintered wood of the table as he exhaled. “Katria is getting married. Or she’s supposed to be, at least. To some Orlesian duke.” 

“Why would she agree to something like that?” Bran asked incredulously. “She doesn’t seem like the type to marry for politics.” 

“She doesn’t want to,” Cullen replied as he straightened to face his brother. “But I guess with these reforms of the Circle in the past year she needs all the political leverage she can get.” 

Bran hesitated and rested his palm on his knee. “So you’re upset?” 

Cullen carded his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, I’m sad _for_ her, because she doesn’t want to do this. And…And I am attracted to her. I like her, but…” He shook his head. “That’s not enough.” 

“Did you tell her how you feel?” Bran asked. 

Cullen thought of their kiss—the world could have been _shattering_ around them, and he wouldn’t have lifted his lips from hers. It was perfect. It was too much. He wanted one last kiss, one small brush, and then she’d run her deft fingers up his chest and over his shoulders and he couldn’t let go of her. 

“I guess,” he began hesitantly. “She knows I—We couldn’t…” He slid his fingers across his neck. “I can’t tell her everything, Bran. It wouldn’t be fair.” He threw his hands up. “I don’t care for her enough to justify her abandoning Laurent, especially since we’ve fallen apart before, a-and even if I did, someday, have strong enough feelings, I…I can’t ask her to be with me. Her marriage, it’s supposed to ensure—the future of Thedas.” 

“I’m sure there are other ways,” Bran said. 

Cullen folded his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t matter. These…useless minor feelings will fade once we go home.” 

“I’m sorry, Cullen,” he said after a few moments, his voice softer. “For both of you.” 

Cullen clenched his jaw, trying to paralyze the despair in his chest to keep it from growing. “I had my chance with her,” he said. “It didn’t work. It’s fine.” 

Branson left him alone after that, and Cullen busied himself preparing for their departure back to South Reach. He got their horses squared away with Dennet as well as gathered all their necessary supplies. Rosalie came to his side and begged to be able to remain in Skyhold for just a few more days—a proposal he turned down because he had no intention of overstaying their welcome. And he wasn’t sure how well Ros and Mia’s husbands were doing taking care of the farm and four children by themselves. 

The afternoon dissolved into the evening, dark shadows falling over the castle as the business of the day dwindled to a handful of guards and stragglers moving along the battlements and through the courtyard. It was just a few hours after sunset when Cullen was walking along the battlements after leaving the tavern. 

He spotted Katria climbing up the stairs just a few feet in front of him. She stopped and smiled at him-he then promised himself he wouldn’t be awkward around her. Katria was dressed nicer than usual, though, and it caught him off guard. Her simple, cotton-spun breeches were replaced with supple leather ones that fit her shapely legs entirely too well to be fair. Her long tunic was dark blue, embroidered with silver, with a neckline that was modest, but still far too tempting for how often Cullen thought of her.

“Cullen,” she said, sounding more formal than he expected. “Do you have a moment?” 

“Of course,” he replied, reaching up to touch his hair in the hopes it was not too disheveled. “I was about to head to supper with everyone—do you want to come along?” 

Katria stopped in front of him and fiddled with the thin belt cinching in her shirt. “I—perhaps we should speak in private first.” 

His brow wrinkled. “Is everything alright?” 

“Absolutely,” she said with a nod, stepping closer to him and leaning against the parapet beside him. “This is just some…brief Inquisition business. I thought I’d get your advice.” 

“Oh,” he began. “Right. Well, ask me anything.” 

Katria reached out and trailed her fingers along the battlements. “Did you hear that Rylen’s wife is pregnant?” 

Cullen paused a moment because that was not a question about Inquisition business. He still smiled. “I did not hear that, but that’s great news. I’m happy for them. Is she coming to Skyhold?”

Katria pushed her hair behind her ear. “No,” she said. “She’s…They’re…” She made a strangled noise and threw up her hand. “Oh, I can’t do this. Rylen’s _quitting_ , Cullen. Moving to Starkhaven because of his wife and his brothers and her family.” 

“Maker, Katria, I’m sorry,” he said, crossing his arms. “I mean, I’m glad for Rylen, but I hate for you to lose an advisor.” 

“He will be missed,” she replied, her eyes sliding away from him and to the dark courtyard below. The air was cold around them, and she rubbed her hands together for warmth. “He’s at least staying for a few months until we…find his replacement.” 

Cullen nodded. “Who are…” He stopped, his mouth open slightly around an unformed syllable before he shut it and furrowed his brow. “You…” 

Katria straightened and folded her hands together. “I’m here to offer you the job, Cullen. On Rylen’s suggestion.” 

Cullen stepped back and put both palms flat against his forehead. “You _cannot_ be serious…” 

His mind was spinning and skidding into some fiery explosion—his disbelief was blinding, but then other emotions punched through: excitement, dread, frustration. 

“You would really offer me this job?” he asked incredulously. 

Katria’s formal façade cracked slightly and she winced. “I—I don’t…I mean, of course I would. Cullen, you’re the best. I was lucky to have Rylen when you left, but other than him, there’s no one who would do the job _half_ as well as you.” 

She sighed, the air turning white in front of her. “I know it’s weird, maybe even not ideal. But, I have a duty to the men and women who have sworn themselves to my cause. They deserve the most competent leader to keep them safe.” She lowered her voice slightly. “That’s _you_ , Cullen, and I can put aside my…I can put aside all of it because it’s important to me that the Inquisition has the best.”

He let out a serrated breath through his clenched teeth. “I don’t know what to say,” he eventually muttered. “You’re asking me to…people will…I’d have to leave South Reach.” 

“You would,” she said. “I’ve thought about your family, and I understand if you-,” 

“I can’t, Katria.” 

She lifted her head, her lips—lips he’d _kissed_ that afternoon—parted slightly. “O-Oh. You…You decided?” 

Cullen stepped away from her and grit his teeth. No was his gut reaction and there were too many words lodged in his throat to figure anything else out. 

“It’s insane,” he said, retreating further. “You can’t ask me to do this again. That part of my life is over.” Cullen looked around him in the darkness, thankful he could not see all of Skyhold spread out before him. “I don’t belong here anymore.” 

Katria’s tone was desperate. “Cullen-,” 

“I can’t stay,” he interrupted tersely, turning from her—breaking his gaze from a woman who he was so incredibly attracted to, a soon-to-be betrothed woman, a woman offering him a job that he loved, but that required him to stick around Skyhold and…and open that dangerous, _dangerous_ door that would lead him to deeper emotions and ruin. 

Cullen turned his back fully and strode away, his pulse hammering away in his ears. He balled his fists, then splayed out his fingers, over and over, trying to pin down a single coherent thought—to give him something to anchor himself to. 

Katria did not follow him, and he did not look back for her in the torchlight. He had likely been too brash in rejecting her, but—

But could be really become the Commander of the Inquisition again?


	20. Chapter 20

Cullen stayed on the battlements, hiding in the shadows between torches, in an attempt to gather his thoughts. He was standing at a part of the wall across from his office— _Rylen’s_ office. Rylen’s _fucking_ office. It hadn’t been his for years. There was still a hole in the roof of the tower, which surprised him, though he doubted Rylen slept there like Cullen had--either way, the tower, the hole, the desk inside, none of it was _his_. 

He clasped his hands together and leaned his elbows against the parapet in front of him. He let his head hang close to his forearms and tapped his foot impatiently against the stones beneath him. 

_Brash_ is certainly one word that could describe his answer to Katria’s offer. The prospect of it had just been entirely too much to consider when he’d spent so much time conditioning his brain to _not_ think of himself as the Commander of the Inquisition. But Cullen could not deny the longing in him that snapped back to life when thinking about being in that role again. He liked his work, and he helped people—what was not to like?

The tension he felt around Katria would have been easy to ignore if he was far away; not so much so if he was her advisor and lived in the same place as her. Though by offering him the job, Cullen supposed Katria was implicitly acknowledging that _she_ could lay those things aside for the sake of the Inquisition. Could he? 

He heard someone approach from behind. “Cullen?” 

Mia’s long arms joined his on the battlements, and she looked over at him. “We were waiting for you in the Great Hall, but you never showed—what’s wrong?” 

Cullen dragged one hand through his hair. “Maker, Mia, I’m sorry. I got side-tracked.” 

“By what?” she asked, her tone still insistent. 

“It’s…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. 

“Don’t say 'it's nothing',” Mia interjected. “It’s clearly not nothing.” 

Cullen shifted so he could face his sister, her features darkened by shadow and the torchlight shining gold against her hair. “The Inquisitor offered me my job back—Commander of the Inquisition. Rylen is returning to Starkhaven.” 

Mia’s eyes only widened a little before she nodded thoughtfully. “You _are_ the most logical choice,” she said, then paused. “Did you accept?” 

“No,” Cullen replied with a sigh. “I was—flustered. I don’t…” 

Her brow wrinkled slightly. “You turned her down?” 

“Are you surprised by that?” he asked. 

Mia shrugged. “Yes, honestly. I think you should take it.” 

“You do?” he asked incredulously. 

She pushed her hair behind her ears, looking back out at Rylen’s office. “The Inquisition has changed things in Thedas and helped a tremendous amount people. If you have a chance to be a part of that—to _lead_ it—why not? That’s always been what you’ve wanted to do, and Maker's breath, we will miss you, but with your skills, you don’t belong in South Reach forever.”

Cullen put his hand back against the parapet. Mia had always been the most supportive of him, even when he’d wanted to become a Templar all those years ago. “I—I suppose that’s a good point,” he said.

“Of course, I’m assuming that if you left South Reach, you’d actually _write_ and _visit_ us,” she remarked, giving him a critical look.

Cullen straightened. “Mia, I would never—never let us fall out of contact again, I swear.” He sighed. “Maker, why am I even saying that? I turned the Inquisitor down.” 

“Which I don't understand. I thought you liked your job,” Mia said. 

“I do—I mean, I _did_ ,” he replied. “But I already left the Inquisition and, ah…” 

“You’re sexually attracted to your potential boss?” 

Cullen blanched. “I’m not talking to my older sister about that.” 

“Married older sister,” she pointed out. “Mother of two. So we _will_ talk, and I will ask: what’s wrong with liking your boss?” 

“I don’t like her,” he said hurriedly. “Like—like _that_. What you’re implying.” 

“I’m not one to imply, Cullen,” she replied archly. 

He huffed. “I am aware.” 

Mia cleared her throat. “Branson told me about Katria marrying that noble,” she said. “Is that the problem?” 

Cullen almost rolled his eyes before letting out an angry breath. “Of course he did.” 

“Bran just didn’t know how to help you,” Mia insisted. “Though, I’m not sure how to either.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t need help,” he said stubbornly. “I have no interest in pursuing a relationship with her, or asking her not to marry Duke Ghislain.” 

“Great,” Mia said. “So you’ll take the job then?” 

“What—um-,” Cullen looked over at her, watching her brows rise in a knowing expression. A smile crept across her face because she clearly had him cornered. 

“It’s not that simple,” he eventually blurted out. 

“Oh, it _is_ that simple,” she said, jutting out one hip with a hand against it. 

“You might be my older sister, but you’re not going to _bully_ me into taking this job,” Cullen said with an amused look. 

“Like you haven’t already changed your mind.” 

“I have—I don’t know,” he said, scrubbing the stubble on his jaw. “If the Inquisition needs me, I wouldn’t feel right turning away. I can…I can handle the other complications if it means I get to help those in need.” He shook his head. “What am I even saying? I already turned her down. For all I know, she’s offered the job to someone else.” _Michel de Chevin, probably_ , he thought with a frown.

“She didn’t,” Mia replied. “Katria knows you _almost_ as well as I do. She’s aware you’ll change your mind.” 

“I cannot be _that_ transparent,” Cullen said. 

“About your job?” she began with a smirk. “You are.” 

He grit his teeth together in thought. “I will consider it further, and then speak to the Inquisitor.” 

Mia put her hand on his shoulder. “Glad to hear it, Cullen,” she said. “Brace yourself for telling Ros about it. There will be tears.” 

He grimaced because Mia was completely right, though he felt a bit guilty about that. There was dread tightening in his chest over having that conversation with his remaining siblings and the children. Of course, he was more intensely dreading having to crawl back to Katria and admit he’d been too brash. 

===

“You missed.” 

Katria looked up from searching her quiver of arrows to throw a withering glare at Sera, who was pointing at the un-punctured target down the range from them.

“I noticed that, thanks,” she replied dryly. “Any advice?” 

Sera shrugged, notching an arrow in one fluid motion before letting it fly. “Hit it next time?” 

Katria selected an arrow and turned back around. “Such sage council. I’m surprised you don’t teach all our recruits archery.” 

She drew back the string of her bow, the muscles in her arm protesting to the unfamiliar movement of it. She squinted in the early morning light. The sun cast a shadow from the main tower over them in the courtyard. Her breath crested over her hand as she exhaled and released the arrow with a twang of the string. 

It landed with a muffled thud at the very edge of the target. Katria grumbled, while Sera thumped her on the shoulder and crowed: “You’re improving!” 

Katria turned back to retrieve another arrow. Her fingers froze mid-grasp when she spotted a pair of worn leather boots. She lifted her head—Cullen was standing there, hands in his pockets, probably trying to look like he just _happened_ to wander by, when he’d clearly come to speak to her. 

She remembered his tone from last night—how _frustrated_ he’d sounded—and she found herself unable to produce any words. Sera peered at them from around Katria’s shoulder. 

“Are you either of you going to say hello?” she asked. 

Whatever words caught in her throat were dislodged, and she straightened. “Right, hi,” she said hurriedly. 

“Good morning,” Cullen said, over her, just as hastily.

Katria swallowed an awkward laugh, while he reached up and rubbed his neck. “I was hoping to speak to you for a moment, Inquisitor.” 

“Of course,” she said, then heard the creak of the wood table next to her as Sera hitched herself up on it and swung her legs that were crossed at the ankles. 

“Talk _alone_ , I imagine,” Katria said with an arched brow. 

Sera huffed. “Always make me leave before the fun parts,” she muttered. The elf slid nimbly off and patted Cullen on the head as she left. 

Katria turned back to the range once Sera was gone. Cullen stood beside her, crunching the grass under him as he approached. She fiddled with the arrows in her quiver, unable to meet his gaze, but determined to speak first. 

“Leaving today?” she asked. 

Cullen folded his arms over his chest. “Yes, in a few hours.” 

“I should apologize now then,” she said. “What happened last night-,” She made a strangled noise. “I never meant to spring my offer on you like that or upset you.”

“You didn’t,” Cullen said quickly. “I was…overwhelmed.” 

Katria selected an arrow. “It _was_ overwhelming,” she agreed. “When Rylen told me I was…stunned.” She shrugged as she raised her bow to her shoulder. “I understand why you made the decision did.” 

“That’s…” He trailed off, scrutinizing her. “Lift your elbow more.” 

Katria looked over at him with her mouth quirked up. “What do you know about archery?” 

He stepped closer. “I was Commander of the Inquisition. I trained more than warriors.” 

She did as he suggested and released the arrow; it sailed across the courtyard and landed closer to the center of her target than before. “Not bad,” she remarked, with a tilt of her head. 

“I can do better, if you give me the chance,” he said, the words coming out of him harshly, like he forced them bodily from his lungs in a moment of courage. 

Katria lowered her bow and faced him. “What do you mean?” 

Cullen swallowed. “Before. I…I was wrong. I think that I want to be Commander of the Inquisition.” 

His confession struck her almost physically; her lips parted a little as her brow rose, but then she realized she should not be surprised. This was Cullen, after all. His old job had been…everything to him.

He reached up and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m just…concerned about…” 

“Us,” Katria finished in a lower voice. She scratched her thumbnail along the upper limb of her bow before meeting his gaze. “I understand that the fact that I’m…physically attracted to you complicates things,” she said. “But you should know that I take my job as Inquisitor very seriously—despite how I may act sometimes—and I won't let my feelings interfere with how we work together. We kissed once, and that can be the end of it.” 

“I agree, and I can do the same,” he said. 

She smiled slightly. “Oh, I know _you_ will take everything very seriously, Cullen,” she said, then tried to push her fingers through her unbraided hair. “I’m sure your family will be sad to see you go. I’d be more than happy to allocate a stipend for them to visit you, or for you to visit them. Travel can be expensive.” 

His brow rose in a look of surprise. “That’s very generous of you, Inquisitor, but-,” 

“Don’t,” she interjected. “I want to do it. Your family deserves it. Might even encourage you to take a vacation every now and then.” 

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes meeting hers, forcing her to acknowledge the entirety of his gratitude and the soft, reverent look he gave her. 

He rubbed the back of his neck again, his gaze drifting up aimlessly to the sky painted yellow by the sunrise. “I want…” He cleared his throat. “I told you I wanted to be there for you, as your friend, a-and I still want to do that.”

“I would appreciate it,” she said. “You’re good company to have when everyone else is running around…” She waved her free hand. “You know, actually _liking_ nobles.” 

He grinned. “Anytime you need to complain, I’ll be here.” 

Katria plucked another arrow from beside him. “I must say I’m glad you’ve changed your mind,” she remarked, spinning it around her finger. “Would you say that when you turned me down you were being a bit… _reckless_?” 

Cullen scoffed, a smile on his lips. “You’re enjoying this. Turning the tables.” 

“I am,” she said with a cheeky grin. 

“Are you going to make me beg?” he asked. 

“Never,” she replied while nocking her arrow. Her eyes flickered over to him. “Unless you _want_ to.” 

“I might say please, if it helped.” 

Katria lowered her bow and leaned closer to him. “ _I_ should beg, Cullen. You’re the best the Inquisition could ask for, and I’m honored you’ve decided to return. Truly.” 

Her words turned his cheeks pink, and he straightened. “Proud to serve, Inquisitor.” 

She held out her hand to him. “Welcome back, Commander.” 

Katria stepped back after shaking his hand, looking down at herself with a grimace. She’d worn nicer clothes last night while offering Cullen his old job, but her outfit today was rough-spun and loose. Josie and Dorian would probably die from the inelegance of it. 

“I wish I looked more _Inquisitorial_ bestowing your old title upon you,” she remarked. “Josie will be displeased. Don’t let her rope you into throwing another party to celebrate this.” 

“I will do my very best to prevent that,” he said with a shudder. He waited a few moments and shifted. “And you…you look fine. Good. Normal.” 

Katria playfully tsk’ed while lifting her bow. “Breaking the friendship rules already?” 

“I’m—I am _perfectly_ capable of keeping our relationship completely platonic,” Cullen said hurriedly, the blush in his face more pronounced now. 

“I’m teasing, Cullen,” she said with a small laugh. “And for the record, so am I.”

Katria aimed her bow, ignoring the small voice in her head that screamed, in response to her proclamation about staying platonic: _But how?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Cullen to return to the Inquisition because I don't think it would have felt authentic for them to reconcile emotionally without acknowledging and working through the struggles they had separating personal and professional issues (which is something that's on the menu for later chapters). 
> 
> And whooo, with this chapter we're (way) more than halfway done with the story. Length and plot wise, all my little pieces are now in place andddd it's just a matter of pushing these dorks closer and closer together until everything explodes. :D


	21. Chapter 21

Cullen returned to South Reach with his family to gather his things; during that time, he frequently promised the children and Ros that he would visit as much as possible—a promise he intended to keep this time. He arrived back in Skyhold after three weeks to fanfare spearheaded entirely by Josephine, which he quelled as quickly as he could in favor of getting back to business. Despite Josephine’s insistence, Cullen elected to take back the still-intact bedroom directly above his office. 

After some reticence, he decided to don his old armor, surcoat and all. Katria merely grinned affectionately upon seeing it, probably biding her time until she could think of a proper joke. Cullen spent most of his days that first week with Rylen, coming to an understanding about what had changed since he left. Thankfully, it was not much—Rylen largely took his leadership cues from Cullen. 

It felt…refreshing, invigorating, to be back at his old job. There was a fast clip to business at the Inquisition, and he reveled in it—so many problems to solve and projects to oversee. 

At first, Cullen thought it would be difficult to interact with Katria, but his new title gave him some needed separation. He could immerse himself in his work—be the Commander serving the Inquisitor, not Cullen, who fumbled around Katria and let his emotions churn too wildly in his gut whenever she was around. This was probably not a tactic his sister would approve of, but it helped keep his focus on what the Inquisition needed him for, not what he _thought_ he needed himself.

About two weeks into his tenure, Cullen had just finished walking the barracks and was returning to the courtyard when Katria flagged him down. She stood by the stairs with her hands crossed under her cloak. 

“Anything pressing you have to do right now?” she asked. 

He stopped in front of her. “No, Inquisitor. Was there something you needed?” 

Katria gestured backwards towards the tower that was once used for the Inquisition’s mages. “I thought I could show you our Circle. Official tour, all that.” 

“Certainly,” he replied, though in all honesty, he did not feel at ease entering a Circle again, considering that the last one he’d seen had been in Kirkwall, where paranoia and cruelty had flourished under Meredith’s rule. 

Katria walked with him up the battlements while peering at his back. “So when you broke that coat out of storage, did you find any nesting birds in it?” 

Cullen chucked. “Have you been saving that one?” 

She broke into a crooked grin. “Thought of it just this morning in bed. Not bad, in my opinion.” 

He reached back and rubbed his neck, smiling a little smugly because she had thought of him. In her bed. They passed through his office and over the tavern, while Katria spoke again. 

“You’ll find that the Circle here is quite small—or _elite_ , as Josephine likes to say. The fact that one exists here was supposed to be symbolic of the relationship between the Chantry and the Inquisition. A model for other Circles.” 

Cullen rested his hand against his sword—an old gesture that felt comfortable and familiar. “So whose authority are they under?” 

Katria wiggled her fingers and gave a half-shrug. “ _Technically_ , they are beholden to Grand Enchanter Fiona and Knight-Commander Barris, but most of these mages were with us when we fought Corypheus, so they’d answer to me if you run into any problems.”

“I see,” Cullen said. “Have you had any problems?” 

“Here?” she began. “No. Everyone’s on their best behavior in Skyhold. It’s other places where there have been some complications.” 

They reached the tower, and Katria smiled at a Templar outside the door. 

“Cooper,” she said. 

The man saluted to her, and Cullen followed her inside. “How did you know his name?” he asked in a lower voice. 

She blinked. “Oh, Cooper? He’s there the same time every week.” 

They had walked into a small library, not monitored by Templars. Katria motioned around them and then up. “Most of the tower is used for studying. The practice arena is below us, and there are separate quarters for the mages in another part of the castle—none of those old, large rooms. The students are paired off, and we give accommodations to families, of course.”

Cullen followed Katria down to a set of well-lit rooms used for training. It was mostly empty given the time of day, save for a child around Bailey’s age, a mage and a Templar.

The child looked over as the stairs creaked under their feet. 

“Inquisitor!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Inquisitor, watch this!”

Cullen was surprised at that reaction—did Katria come here enough that she was recognizable to the denizens of the Circle? She did like children, so he supposed it would make sense for her to carve out some time for them. 

Katria nodded and leaned against the wall, observing as the child waved her hands. A small flame flickered to life between her palms. 

“See?” she said, beaming with pride. 

“Great job,” Katria replied with a smile. 

The girl turned back to her flame, bouncing excitedly. In an instant, the flare grew, shooting up towards the ceiling, growing fatter as it went. She shrieked and dropped her hands, while the Templar, who had no helmet on, stepped forward. 

“Whoa,” he said, casting dispel up towards the fire in a wave that prickled the hair on Cullen’s neck. The flame hissed and then sizzled out. 

“I’m sorry,” the girl said, biting her lip. “I didn’t-,” 

“It’s alright, Anna,” the Templar said. “Just remember to stay focused next time.” 

The older mage stepped forward. “Perhaps tomorrow we’ll work on some lower-level casts to get you ready to try that again.” 

“Good plan,” the Templar remarked. 

Cullen observed the exchange warily at first—so foreign to anything he had ever seen before—then looked over at Katria. She waved him back up the stairs. 

“Not like in Kirkwall, I know,” she said. 

“Not at all.” 

Katria folded her arms over her chest. “Mages—especially young ones—shouldn’t be punished for learning to use their magic. And Templars shouldn’t be their prison guards. They’re allies—they can _facilitate_ control, along with veteran mages.” 

“It seems like a much more harmonious environment,” he said. 

“A welcoming one,” she replied, while pushing open the door for them. “I think that part of the reason why the Circle system was so broken was because everyone had this expectation that Circles were a prison, and that mages were held against their will. We’ve instead tried to make this a place where young mages _want_ to come to learn to control their powers—that _is_ what most of them want, after all. To be in control. We’ve made things more flexible. Open.” 

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” Cullen said, appreciation curling his mouth into a small smile. 

She nodded. “I have. It’s very important to me.” 

“What about the Templars?” he asked. 

“Important to me also,” she said. “We’ve made it a priority to emphasize that taking lyrium is now a choice, and we are trying to educate them much more about its effects.” She shrugged. “If I had my way, we wouldn’t use it at all, but despite being the Inquisitor, I don’t get _everything_ I want.” 

Katria shifted, her eyes rising to meet his. “Many Templars have followed in your footsteps and stopped taking lyrium. It’s not an easy process, but we try and provide them with support.” She wrung her fingers together. “That’s really why I wanted to bring you here—I was hoping you’d be willing to talk to the Templars still struggling. You’re just so strong, and…and you’re a great role model for them.” 

His eyebrows rose in disbelief at the gratitude that washed over him from her praises. “Yes—I mean, absolutely,” Cullen said. He paused and ran his hand through his hair—he didn’t know how inspiring he _felt_ to these people, but he wanted to help them, if he could. 

“This is all good, Katria. Impressive.” 

She actually blushed a little, which surprised him. “Thank you. It’s…not a perfect system, but the freedom is worth preserving. And I would do anything to-,” She clicked her tongue and sighed. “Well, you know what I’d do to preserve it.” 

She’d make herself miserable marrying an Orlesian who was basically a stranger to her. Because even if it hurt, Katria always did the right thing. The hero who doesn’t end up with true love in the end.

Katria cleared her throat and gave a wan smile that didn’t reach her normally expressive eyes. She squeezed his arm. “Let me finish showing you around and introduce you to the First Enchanter.” 

Cullen nodded in assent and followed her. He tried not to let his disappointment break into his stoic expression. This stupid marriage that was being arranged haunted their every interaction like a specter. When he wasn’t being professional, which didn’t happen often, Cullen was faced with constant reminders about a situation that he’d prefer to ignore. Ignoring it, of course, wouldn’t make it go away, and he dreaded the day that this prospect of marriage that loomed over them became a reality. 

===

Cullen stood outside the door to the Inquisitor’s quarters, waffling between knocking and walking in unannounced like Katria’s other advisors did to her. This was the first time since becoming Commander of the Inquisition that he’d be in her room, and it was not by his own volition. 

He and the other advisors had been waiting for Katria in the War Room for almost half an hour, which worried him, but also irked him because he hated anything less than punctuality. When the suggestion came forward that one of them go retrieve Katria, Cullen was swiftly volunteered for the job. He suspected that the other two wanted, in the meanwhile, to gush over the new bolts of fabric and other merchandise that had been delivered to Josephine’s office that morning. 

Cullen eventually decided to knock—two firm raps against the door. Katria responded immediately, her voice an echo through the high-ceiling of her room. “I _know_!” 

He hesitated, then pushed open the door a few inches. 

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” 

Only a frustrated groan came in response to his question, and Cullen slowly made his way up the stairs. When he crested the top of them, he saw Katria standing by her desk in the process of pulling a brush from her utterly tangled hair. 

“I know I’m late,” she began immediately. “I’m sorry.” 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Nothing—I mean, other than my hair,” she replied with a huff. “I’m trying to…” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Turn it into a bird’s nest?” 

Katria spun around and glared at him. “ _Braid_ it.” 

“I thought Bailey braided your hair for you,” he said. 

“She does,” Katria replied with an edge in her voice. “But she’s _still_ mad about the incident from the ball—more than two months ago, mind you. She's also upset because I told her she couldn’t go to South Reach on a scouting trip next season. She’s no longer interested in having breakfast in the mornings with me. Or subsequently doing my hair.” She covered her face with her free hand. “Maker’s balls, I feel like a child.” 

Cullen walked further into the room, standing closer to the chairs around her chess set as opposed to her bed. “You really can’t braid your hair yourself?” 

Katria angrily threw up her hand. “I’m sorry that my childhood _sucked_ —that my mother died before I remember her, that my sister was _entirely_ too self-centered to ever care about normal, sibling activities like hair-braiding. I’m sorry that I’m running a fucking _Inquisition_ and learning this skill is not on the top of my to-do list!” 

He waited a few moments for her to inhale a shaky breath, and then folded his arms over his chest. “So, what are you really upset about?” 

Katria pointed at him with her brush warningly. “Nothing.” She spun back around to her desk. “Maker, what does it even matter? I’ll just cut it all off.” 

“Your _hair_?” Cullen interjected, watching in horror as she procured a dagger from her desk drawer. He hurried over. “Maker’s breath, Katria, hang on.” He grabbed her raised wrist and put it back against the desk. “I will…” 

She turned to him with a confused expression. “Will what?” 

Cullen clenched his jaw tightly and let his breath come out a low hiss. He grabbed the brush from her. “I will _fix it_ ,” he ground out. “But, Katria, I swear to the Maker, if you tell _anyone_ about this, I will—will be very upset.”

A quivering smile made its way across her face, which, given the circumstances, was a relief to see. Her lips pursed together to keep a laugh in her throat. 

“You’re going to braid my hair for me, Commander Cullen?” 

He flinched at the invocation of his title and dragged her by her wrist to the group of chairs by the fireplace. “Let’s just hurry.” 

Cullen sat at the edge of one chair, while Katria pushed the table away from them to give her enough room to sit with her legs crossed on the floor in front of him. He set his feet on either side of her, but she had scooted forward enough that their positions were not too inappropriate, thankfully. 

He examined with consternation the gnarled brown knots in her hair. “Maker’s breath, what did you even do?” he muttered. 

She tried to turn, but he put a hand on her shoulder to keep her facing forward. “How do you know how to fix it exactly?” she asked. 

Cullen selected one knot and tried to run the brush through it. “Mia made me learn how to braid hair when we were younger because Rosalie always wanted it done that way whenever we played games—especially when she had to be a princess and even when we made her be an apostate.” He stopped and pulled the brush out when his current direction wasn’t working. “I also have two nieces with very curly hair, and when their mothers weren’t around, _I_ had to get the twigs and moss and whatever else got stuck in there out when they came inside.” 

“ _Ow_!” Katria jerked forward with a wince when he pulled at a particularly tangled clump. “That hurt!” 

He pulled her back. “It’s going to hurt,” he said. “You should see what you did.” 

Katria crossed her arms with a huff, but only gave a few more howls of pain as he plucked and pulled; eventually, he could drag the brush through her hair without any difficulty. Cullen resisted the urge to run his fingers through it—her waves were a little frizzy from his work, but still very soft. 

“There,” he said, setting the brush on the table in front of her. 

She turned her head slightly, her lips pouting. “No braid?” 

He sighed exasperatedly. “Katria, I am not-,” 

“Please?” 

Cullen clenched his fingers, but then looked at her face and the pleading tint of her eyes—his shoulders slumped in resignation. “Maker— _fine_.” 

She settled back down with a satisfied quirk in her smile, while he worked on separating her hair into threads. 

“Do you think I made the right choice with Bailey?” she eventually asked. “Or is she justified in her anger?” 

He continued working. “Well, why don’t you want her to go to South Reach?” 

“It’s _not_ because I have anything against Thomas,” she replied emphatically. “I really don’t. But, I won’t be there, and after what happened last time…” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “She’s just not ready. She doesn’t have the skills yet, and I won’t be around to help her if something goes wrong…” 

“That’s a legitimate reason,” Cullen said. “Bailey is a little young to be out there as a scout.” 

“ _She_ doesn’t think that,” Katria muttered. “Or, she thinks I’m in some grand conspiracy to keep her from her…one true love or some nonsense like that.” 

“Why don’t you tell her that if she continues to train hard, you’ll let her go to South Reach this time next year?” he suggested. “That way you’re really making it about her readiness, and not Thomas. I can go with her, if you’d like.” 

Katria was silent and ran her finger absently along the toe of his boot. “That’s—a good idea. Thank you, Cullen.” 

He smiled slightly. “I can’t guarantee it’ll get Bailey to stop her pouting, but at least you’ll be being reasonable with her.” 

“It might encourage her to really devout herself to her training,” she said. 

Cullen finished the final twists of her braid and clumsily tied off the end—he really wasn’t that good at it, but Olivia and Lydia never seemed to care; they instead just giggled hysterically at the fact that when they asked, he would do their hair for them. Which Katria seemed to find entertaining too. 

“I’m done,” he said, sliding back against the plush armchair while her pale fingers trailed down her hair. 

“Thank you.” Katria bowed her head slightly, and her hand rose to her neck, apparently trying to massage away the tension there. His work seemed to have calmed her down a little from earlier. 

“Was there anything else you were concerned about?” Cullen asked tentatively. 

She dropped her hand, still not facing him. “I…I’m not sure you want to hear about it.” 

Laurent. Her marriage. Something equally as gut-wrenching to him. 

“If you want to talk about it, I will listen,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“No,” she said, with a small shake of her head. “No, really. I’m fine.” 

Cullen reached out and touched her braid, thumbing the loose ridges, before he laid it over her shoulder. His fingers lingered on her back and barely brushed over her tunic. He pressed more firmly, feeling the tension in her muscles even through her clothes. 

“You can tell me anything,” he said gently. 

Katria hesitated; he could just see the profile of her face, and the way her brow furrowed. She eventually spoke. “I’ve been trying to buy myself time with this alliance to Laurent…” Her expression of despair deepened, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “But I received a letter today, and…his family is concerned about my _age_. I’m thirty-three, and apparently for the number of heirs Laurent wants, that’s a little old.” 

Cullen swallowed because, yes, this was _not_ something he wanted to hear about. “What does that mean?” he asked. 

Katria held the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “They want a ceremony within the year, which is…” She shook her head. “That I can tolerate, I suppose. But it’s just…you know…” She gestured to her torso and stomach. “The idea of _producing_ a…producing _that_ so soon…I…” 

Cullen was surprised at the curtain of rage that covered his more practical thoughts. He felt the muscles in his back and shoulders tensing, and he let the hand buried in the cushion of the chair clench into a fist. 

_You don’t care about that, Rutherford_ , Cullen thought to himself. He was not supposed to be surprised by this. Of course Laurent wanted her children—she was the Maker’s chosen, the Herald of Andraste. There were people out there who worshipped her, who thought her blood could cure any disease; surely, the Inquisitor’s child would be equally as impressive. The off-spring of a noble and the greatest hero of all time.

Katria shifted to look at his face when he did not reply. She swallowed hard and bit her lip—apparently his expression was not hiding his anger as well as he’d like. 

She stood abruptly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-,” 

“Katria, wait,” he finally managed, but she had already walked past his chair to her desk. She began gathering up some scattered reports and held them tightly to her chest. 

“We need to get to the War Room,” she said. 

Cullen tried to cut her off and reach for her as she marched towards the stairs, but she stopped and backtracked. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “We just won’t talk about it anymore.” 

“That’s not going to solve anything,” Cullen replied. Maker, why had he let himself freak out like that? She was supposed to trust him, and he couldn’t even manage one simple discussion. 

Katria banked past him for the steps. “There’s nothing to _solve_ ,” she said. “It’s what they expect. It’s what everyone expects. How noble marriages work.” 

“Please, _wait_ ,” Cullen said, and he was convincing enough that she stopped half-way down the stairs, hugging the reports closer to her but not facing him. He hurried down to her and put his hand against the wall. 

“I’m sorry that I-,” he stopped and ran his hand through his hair because he didn’t even have a _name_ for what happened. “I want to support you,” he said. “This just—it overwhelmed me, too. Just for a moment. Because I don’t want you to have to do these things you don’t want to.”

Katria frowned and leaned against the wall. “It’s alright, Cullen. I…let myself get upset about something far away. The Inquisition has more pressing concerns.”

“This isn’t about the Inquisition,” he replied. 

She snorted and trotted past him. “It’s _always_ about the Inquisition.” 

Cullen let his hand fall to his side before following her. They made their way to the War Room in relative silence. Katria eventually stole a glance at him and took a small breath. 

“Thanks for listening to me and supporting me…” Her lip curved up slightly. “For doing my hair, too.” 

“You aren’t supposed to mention that outside of your quarters,” he told her as they reached the door to Josephine’s office. 

She gingerly touched her plait that already looked in danger of falling loose--he'd been sloppy and out of practice, apparently. “I won’t,” she said. “You should definitely stick to your day job, though.” 

Cullen opened the door to the War Room, and she slipped inside past him. He inhaled a deep breath and followed. He found more certainty in that large, hollow room—he was the Commander, and he could focus on his job, his duty, not the woman across from him who did nothing but complicate his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so the hair thing was kinda dorky, and if it's dorky enough I'll change it. I guess I'm just a sucker for dorky/fluffy things today. :P


	22. Chapter 22

Katria visited Cullen’s office most afternoons. It was usually under the premise of business—a premise that Cullen was _very_ good at operating under. He called her _Inquisitor_ all too frequently, and there was never a shortage of reports for them to discuss. Katria did not mind the professionalism. In fact sometimes, she enjoyed the challenge of wresting a personal conversation from him when he was trying to talk to her about supply requisitions. 

The door to his office was closed; she tested it, and finding it unlocked, pushed her way inside. Cullen was sitting at his desk with his head rested in one hand. He didn’t notice her immediately. Instead, he stirred after a few moments and straightened. 

“Oh, Inquisitor—hello.” 

Katria scrutinized him in the dim room; he looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper and the circles under them darker. “Are you alright?” she asked. 

“Hm—yes,” he said absently as he stood. “What can I help you with?” 

Katria perched on the edge of his desk. “Do you have a headache?” 

“I said I was fine.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Cullen.” 

His mouth twisted into a scowl. “I don’t have a headache.” 

“Fine—you at least look like you haven’t slept well,” she said.

“Maker’s breath, Inquisitor—I’m _fine_ ,” he snapped.

Her brow rose slightly at his tone, and she bit her lip. “Is…something upsetting you?” 

Cullen clenched his jaw. “Sorry. I…I just…” He threw his hand angrily down. “I’m supposed to be _past_ this,” he said. “I am so—so _fucking_ tired of…having this need. Of feeling it. I hardly slept at all last night, and then this morning I…” 

Lyrium. He was talking about his withdrawal. Katria reached out and gently touched his arm. “I know it’s difficult, but you—you shouldn’t be surprised, or mad at yourself.” She gestured around them. “There’s no lyrium in South Reach because there are no Templars. No Circle. Here? It’s much more _present_. There’s nothing wrong with having a reaction to that.” 

Cullen collapsed in his chair and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “Even in South Reach, I thought about lyrium _every day_. Maker, I hate it. I hate what it did to my life. What _I_ did to my life.” 

Katria hesitated, scraping her fingers against the wood underside of his desk, before sliding off it and crouching down in front of him, one knee propped on the floor. She was tall, so the height difference between them as he sat was minimal. 

“Cullen, stop being so hard on yourself,” she said gently. “You are doing _great_. What you went through—most people couldn’t handle half of it.” 

His head slumped against his hand. “You asked me to talk to the Templars no longer taking lyrium. How am I supposed to do that when…when I feel so weak?” 

Katria scooted closer and put her hand on his knee. “That’s exactly when you should talk to them,” she insisted. “Cullen, they need to see that it is completely natural to struggle—to have doubts. Instead of looking like some perfect, stalwart Commander, you’ll seem like a real person, and show them that the way they’re feeling is okay. And moreover, that these struggles are _beatable_. Even if that fight lasts for…much longer than they may like.” 

Cullen exhaled sharply through his nose, searching her face as the muscles in his jaw slowly lost tension. “I feel like I’ll spend the rest of my _life_ thinking about lyrium and avoiding it.” He cleared his throat. “But…I suppose you could be right.” 

She smiled slightly. “I usually am.” 

He scooted a fraction closer to her, his hand drifting forward before twitching and landing on the knee she was not touching. “I, um—I’m sorry I snapped at you.” 

Katria shrugged. “It’s nothing, Cullen. Just…talk to me next time, okay? If you want to.” 

“I want to,” he replied, the scar on his lip crinkling as he smiled at her. 

“Good,” Katria said. She then realized that she really should not spend so much time looking at him—he was too handsome, his small grin too endearing. Her fingers rose to his face, gently tracing the line of his cheekbone. 

“You should let me be there for you, too,” she said.

She saw his throat tighten as he swallowed, leaning against her touch. “I can do that.” 

Her thumb ran from his rough stubble to the smooth skin of his cheek. She tightened her hold on his knee before realizing how inappropriate she was being. A blush rose up her neck. 

“I’m—Maker, I’m sorry, you, uh…” She retracted her hand and put her weight on her heels to stand. “You have a nice bone structure.”

Cullen followed her with his gaze as she straightened. “Um, thank you?” 

Katria leaned against the desk, grinning sheepishly before shuffling sideways out into the more open space of his office. _Friendly_ , supportive conversations with co-workers did not involve face touching. No matter how impossibly handsome those faces were. 

“Please, please let me know if you need anything, Cullen,” she said, to fill the silence. “I don’t want you to go through this alone—I know you must be missing your family, especially.” 

He stood from his chair and nodded. “Yes. It’s…odd, you know. When I left for the Order at thirteen, I missed them tremendously, but after…” He slid his fingers through his hair. “After Kinloch, I didn’t _want_ to go home, and I tried to make myself forget. I convinced myself I had no one, so I never had anyone to miss.” 

“I’m intimately familiar with _that_ feeling,” Katria replied. “After defeating Corypheus, it was hard to watch my Inner Circle leave—I finally missed something. For the first time I had a family, and then you know…” She waved her hands outwards.

“You still have a family,” Cullen said. 

“I know,” she said with a nod. “It’s just…different.” 

He opened his mouth to reply until a yawn escaped. He quickly raised his hand in an attempt to mask it. Katria folded her arms over her chest. 

“You know, if you’re tired, you might feel better after taking a nap.” 

“I am not a child. I do not take _naps_ ,” he replied. “Thank you for your concern, though. Really.” 

“You’re welcome,” she said, reaching out without thought and sinking her fingers into the fur of his coat. “You are not an easy man to fuss over.” 

He smiled slightly. “You manage nagging well enough.” 

“Prick,” she said while giving him a playful shove. “If you’re not going to nap, at least promise to take a break.” 

Cullen actually hesitated for a few moments—that’s how much the Maker-forsaken man liked his work. When she huffed at him, he raised his hand. “Alright, alright, I will. I have some reports to write, but after that, I’ll try.” 

Katria untangled her fingers from his coat and stepped back. “Good—but if you said no, I was going to order you to anyway.” 

Cullen chuckled, then his hand rested against his sword, tapping anxiously against the pommel. “So, um, if you’re not busy, I could—we could have a game of chess in the gardens? I don’t know if you still play. Or cheat, rather.” 

“I do,” she said. “Both. Play and cheat. I’d love to. Let’s meet in about an hour?”

“Great—I mean, yes. I would like to,” he said. 

“Me too. See you then.” 

Katria beamed in what she considered to be a very embarrassing way before walking backwards. She waved a final time and slipped through the ajar door. She tried to ignore just how much she looked forward to spending time with him. It was easy to be around Cullen—barring any time her potential marriage came up. Of course, Katria hated talking about that with _anyone_ , but with Cullen there were added difficulties. Though, as was the case with most of her feelings, Katria was loathe to admit it. 

===

Cullen was in the Great Hall—not by choice—sitting at the far end of a crowded table, nurturing a drink he’d hardly taken any sips from. There were some unusually important visiting dignitaries in Skyhold for the month, and Josephine required Cullen to be _present_ for dinner, when he normally ate as time permitted in his office. 

He supposed he didn’t mind it so much. Dorian and Bull were around to talk to. And Sera as well, though he was still miffed at her for putting bees in his training dummy again as a ‘welcome back’ present. Katria was there, of course, but normally her time was spent entertaining the nobles drawn to her like oddly-dressed magnets. 

His eyes flickered to her across the room, though he was determined not to stare. She was dressed more formally than she’d probably like, only half her hair pinned back and brushed more meticulously than usual. Josephine had put her in some dark burgundy robe made of wool and lined with fur along the collar. It was cinched in at her waist with an intricate metal belt.

Pretty, if he had a mind to notice those things. Which he told himself he didn’t. 

Someone saddled up on the bench beside him. 

“Do something other than stare at her, and I win five coppers from Dorian.” 

Cullen snapped his neck around to see Varric draining a drink beside him. “I wasn’t,” he said. “Also, hello.” 

Varric thumped him on the shoulder. “Greetings aren’t in order between friends when there are bets to be won. And I’m not surprised to see you.”

Cullen leaned back. “You’re not?” 

The dwarf shook his head. “Nah—come on, Curly, this is your home,” he said, then lifted his hand to the room. “Plus, what’s not to like? You’ve got soldiers to boss around, that sense of superiority that comes with working for the Inquisition, beautiful ladies—beautiful _lady_ , in your case.” 

He snorted and tapped his fingers against his ale. “What’re you doing here in Skyhold, Varric?” 

“Cullen asked evasively, trying poorly to change the subject,” Varric replied.

He groaned. “Maker, not that narration nonsense you always did with Hawke.” 

“Cullen said enviously.” Varric put his palms flat against the wood table. “Since you asked though, I’m here to petition the Inquisition for more aid in Kirkwall.” 

“Will Katria agree to that?” he asked. 

Varric waved his hand dismissively. “Of course she will. All of Cat’s favorite people are from Kirkwall. You, me, Hawke.” 

Cullen sipped his drink. “I’m from Ferelden.” 

“Semantics. I’ll get the money,” he said with a scoff. Varric craned his neck back to where Katria was standing. “You heard anything about that rich Orlesian that’s been hanging around?” 

Cullen tightened his fingers around his mug. “Uh, no, not much.” He furrowed his brow. “How did _you_ know about it?” 

“I keep my eye on Inquisition business,” Varric said with a shrug. “And come on, Curly, you don’t have one thing to say about Cat getting married?” 

“ _Maybe_ getting…” Cullen cleared his throat. “Married.” He looked down at the liquid amber of his drink. “And I have nothing to say. I’m—it doesn’t matter to me.” 

“The liar said lyingly.”

“I am telling the truth,” Cullen insisted. “You haven’t been here—you have no proof of the alternative.” 

“Your face is proof of the alternative,” Varric said with a raised brow. 

Cullen threw a glance over his shoulder at Katria, standing with her hands demurely crossed. She was facing him, and caught his eye over the backs of the nobles she was talking to. 

He tried to look bashfully away before she crossed her eyes and smiled in a silly expression that made him snort with laughter. Katria turned her attention away while Varric rolled his eyes dramatically. 

Cullen shifted back to face the table, ready to give Varric some poor defense for his feelings, when he heard a terrified shriek. It wasn’t Katria’s voice—he knew her voice. This sound was shriller, some noble dropping their fan in utter horror at some ruffled skirt, probably. 

He checked the source of the noise anyway; he was the Commander of the Inquisition after all. When he saw bodies diving aside, and more screams following like a wave from the original, he instinctively reached for the blade in his boot. 

Cullen turned completely; a sharp, paralyzing pang of panic shot through him at what he saw—Katria locked in a defensive pose, hands out, clamping around the arms of a noblewoman who was decidedly probably _not_ a noblewoman because she was wielding a knife. 

Cullen was up from the bench in a second—he barely registered standing, barely registered it clattering behind him as he shot forward. He shoved roughly through the crowd, breaking through it in time to hear the loud _slap_ of a body against the stone floor. 

“Inquisit-,” He trailed off—Katria had pinned the noblewoman down, a knife to her throat. 

“Stay back,” Cullen ordered, throwing his arm out as the other guests tried to corral inwards. Dorian was standing nearby and took a sip of his drink. 

“Well this feels familiar.” 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said, circling around her. 

“I’m alright, Commander,” she said, not looking up at him. 

Blackwall had pushed through the crowds too—Cullen had beat him there, he noted. The woman underneath Katria was young and dark-haired, her face obscured by her mask. She was laying still, her mouth a thin, pursed line. 

Katria moved her dagger from the woman’s neck and used it to flip up her mask. 

“You are not Petrice Mantillon," Katria said. "Though I assumed that the minute you pulled a dagger on me. You're from the House of Repose?” She held the knife closer to the woman's neck. “You can answer me, or I kill you, and my Ambassador will just be _so_ disappointed if I get blood on this nice robe.” Katria looked down. “Though I guess it’s the right color for it.” 

“You’ll kill me either way,” the woman spat out. 

“Oh, no,” Katria said. “That’s not my style—if you cooperate.” 

The woman squirmed. “You know there’s a contract on your life. That is why I am here.” 

Katria lifted her head and gestured with two fingers towards her guards. As they approached with swords drawn, she crawled backwards. 

“Escort her out of Skyhold. Far.” 

Cullen’s brow furrowed deeply—she was what? He shoved his dagger back into his boot and marched over to her. 

“Inquisitor,” he hissed. “Why are you letting her _go_?”

Katria wiped her hands on her robe, then pushed her now disheveled hair back. She looked complacent and unsurprised, and he found himself antsy and trying not to let his temper get to him. “Commander Cullen, my quarters please,” she said in a clipped tone. “Blackwall, if you could secure the area. Tell Josie to—do whatever with the guests. Send Leliana to my rooms in the next half-hour.” 

She spun on her heel and marched across the room that was filled with frantic whispers. Cullen hurried after her, following in the wide swath people made for her as she headed for her quarters. The minute the door clicked shut behind them, he grabbed her arm. 

“Someone tries to kill you, and you _let them go_?” he snapped.

“Let me explain,” Katria said. 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “Maker—I mean, this assassination nonsense is just…” 

“Please, just listen,” she insisted. “I know what I am doing.” 

“How?” he demanded. “Katria, there is a contract on your _life_.” 

“I know, Cullen,” she said. “There’s been one for over two years. I have plenty of enemies.”

“Do you know who specifically contacted the House of Repose?” he asked. 

Katria motioned him through the hallway. They slipped through her door and up the stairs to her room. She offered him a place to sit, but he refused—he was far too anxious to sit. She settled in a chair herself, slumping back and unfastening the first few clasps of her robe, so nonchalant, when she’d almost been _killed_. 

“We don’t know who ordered the contract,” she said. “Obviously, there’s a name on it, but given how high profile of a target I am, it’s likely a false name, or an intermediary for whoever really wants me dead.”

Cullen began pacing. “We _clearly_ need better security. You could have been killed.” 

“Yes, that sort of comes with the territory of being Inquisitor.” 

“You should not be in danger during dinner in your own _home_ ,” Cullen protested. 

Katria stood and walked over to him. “I promise, I saw the attempt from a mile away. I wasn’t in any real danger. This is what I’m trained for, remember?” 

He stopped to look at her. “Is that why you let her go free?” 

She fiddled with her hair, then pushed it back behind her ear. “No,” she said. “Listen—you know I despise giving judgments as the Inquisitor that result in death. I believe in redemption too much to do that.” She put her hands on her hips. “Most young assassins who train in the House of Repose are forced into it; they’re poor or orphaned. They don’t know any other kind of life and serve out of fear.” 

Of course Katria had noble intentions, as always. Cullen rubbed his forehead. “So you’re just trying to…” 

“Oh, that’s not the only reason I let her go,” she said. “You see, this contract on my life—it’s incredibly valuable. Each time the House of Repose fails, they’re obligated to try again. Not right away, but they’ll never stop.” 

“So they’ve attempted this before?” Cullen asked exasperatedly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“It’s been almost six months since their last attempt,” Katria replied. “We've had other concerns to deal with in the meanwhile.” She waved her hand impatiently. “The point is, my reason for letting their assassins go is that it cultivates an image for me—being merciful and all that.”

His brow wrinkled. “Which matters because….?” 

“The House of Repose is run by an Orlesian family—the Belcourts. Obviously, it’s a well-kept secret and no one will _confirm_ this fact, but everyone knows it. The most valuable assassins at the House of Repose are the Belcourt brothers. None of the others matter; we kill them, they just get replaced.”

Cullen crossed his arms over his chest. “Is this all part of your plan?” 

“Yes,” she said. “You see, the Belcourt brothers hardly ever get sent out to fulfill contracts. It’s too risky; they’re heirs to the family after all, trained to be figureheads.” She raised a finger. “ _But_ it’s very embarrassing for them that I’ve repeatedly thwarted their attempts. They signed a contract—they can’t quit trying.” 

“Why can’t we destroy the contract, like Leliana wanted to do when they threatened Josephine?” he asked. 

Katria shook her head. “That worked on a hundred-year old contract whose target was a very lovely, but relatively minor Antivan noble. I’m the Inquisitor—it must have cost a fortune to draw up a contract for me, and the House claiming it was ‘destroyed’ would probably very much anger whoever wants me dead.” 

Cullen sighed impatiently. “What are they going to do then? Just continue to try and kill you for the rest of your life?” 

“Theoretically, yes,” she said. “But that’s my point. They will keep sending better and better assassins, whom I will release, and eventually I think they’ll send one of the brothers. _That_ is when I stop playing nice. If we capture that brother and hold him prisoner, we will have the leverage to _force_ the House of Repose to destroy my contract and refuse to accept any others for my life.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So your plan is to wait around for an incredibly talented assassin to make an attempt on your life and _hope_ that you stop him? So you can hold him for ransom?” 

“Yes,” she said, then lifted a hand to keep him from speaking. “But also consider that the House of Repose’s contract specifies that their attempts must be made in a public setting—whoever paid them wants me killed for everyone to see. To send a message. It’s all politics. It makes it easier to stop them.” 

He clenched his fist. “Inquisitor, I _completely_ disapprove of this plan. It is unnecessarily dangerous. Let me send my soldiers in and we will wipe the House of Repose out. We can’t allow them to continue their attempts.” 

“I know you don’t approve,” she said softly. “And while I see the practicality of your suggestion, I want to avoid as much loss of life as possible.” 

“At the expense of your own?” he demanded. “Katria, you could make one, simple mistake and…and we’d lose you. Forgive me, but I _won’t_ allow that to happen.” 

She stepped closer to him. “Please, listen to me, Cullen,” she said. “I am well-protected. There’s nothing we can do to completely prevent these talented assassins from slipping through the cracks. It happens.” 

He frowned. “There is _plenty_ we can do.” 

Katria sighed, her fingers gently touching his coat before she pulled away. “I need you to trust me, Cullen.” She tilted her chin up to him; she was close enough that he could see the brown rings around her pupils. 

“I trust you completely with my men, our home and protecting it. I trust Josephine to handle our noble allies. I trust Leliana to gather secrets.” She reached up and pressed her finger against his breastplate. “It is time for you to trust me to protect myself.” 

Cullen clenched his jaw, and with a sharp exhale through his nose met her eyes. 

“You know I trust you, Inquisitor. I—I trust your plan.” 

Her lips ticked up just barely in a small smile. “I’m glad.” 

Katria stepped back from him, and he reached for her elbow. “If we’re to go forward with this, let us at least take some further precautions.” 

“What do you suggest?” she asked. 

“More regulations and security checks on visiting dignitaries,” he said. “This is the second time members of the House of Repose have disguised themselves as nobles to get close to us. We shouldn’t allow it again.” 

Katria traced her lower lip with her thumb. “Well, Josie won’t be happy about it, but I can agree to that.” 

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” he said, then scrutinized her, trying to ignore the pale expanse of her collarbone that was visible. “Are you sure you’re alright? If the blade even nicked you, and it was coated in poison…” 

She spread out her hands and flexed them, then inspected the seams of her robe. “I seem to be fine, and we’ve prepared for that scenario if it happens.” She grinned and cocked an eyebrow. “I also have my Commander—you were quite swiftly at my side.” 

“Well, ah, it’s my job,” he said, rubbing his neck. 

“I appreciate your diligence.” 

It occurred to Cullen this might be one of the instances where he could expend being so professional in favor of expressing his more personal concern for Katria. But what was he supposed to say that wouldn't...terrify her? The thought of losing her; it was unconscionable. He'd lived without her for two long years, and it wasn't going to happen again. Instead of saying anything, he turned when the door flew open. Josephine appeared at the top of the stairs. 

“Oh, Inquisitor, I’m glad I found you.” 

Josephine marched over and refastened the loose clasps of her robe. 

“What?” Katria said, brow furrowed. “Dinner’s not over?” 

“You know Orlesians,” Josie replied. “Assassination attempts, duels—all just a part of a successful soirée. You’re alright, yes?”

She grabbed her side. “Oh, no. I feel ill. I’ll need to spend the rest of the night in recovery. Right, Cullen?” 

He straightened. “Well, uh-,” 

“Nice try,” Josie said. “But you have to stay at this dinner.” She stepped back, giving her wavy hair a final prim. “You look beautiful, Inquisitor.” 

Cullen shifted and cleared his throat. She did, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to ignore that. Ignore the beauty, the humor, the razor-sharp wit, the strength, the perfect smile. He clenched his hands behind his back. He was in serious trouble.


	23. Chapter 23

Some days, Katria despised the layout of Skyhold. Specifically, she despised the fact that she was forced to walk through Josephine’s office in order to get to the War Room. The problem wasn’t really Josephine—she was a sweet, mild and patient woman, who had the unfortunate job of handling the political affairs of a woman with less than zero acumen or concern for the Game. 

Katria pushed open the door to the office, praying her Ambassador had already entered the War Room. Josie had not done so and gave a pleasant smile upon seeing her. 

“Good morning, Katria,” she said as she stood, board in hand. “I have a few things I need to discuss with you—don’t you touch that door, Inquisitor.” 

Katria stopped herself from turning the knob to the next hallway. She slumped against the wall. “It’s too early to talk about dresses.” 

Josephine walked over to her. “Then we can talk about the caterers and the wine list for our Satinalia banquet in a few months, that fiasco with the Abernaches, the correspondence I need from you for-,” 

“Shit, alright—I get it,” Katria interjected hurriedly. “We will talk.” 

Josie opened the door for her to the hallway, and Katria followed her through. 

“We should discuss dresses,” Josephine added. “I found the loveliest fabric yesterday—it’ll match your eyes so well, and I think the next time you see Laurent it would be-,” 

Katria wrested open the doors to the War Room louder than necessary and hurried inside. She heard Josephine hum in displeasure behind her; Katria understood her frustration—any time she heard _Laurent_ or _marriage_ or _Ghislain_ , she swiftly changed the subject. It was becoming increasingly difficult to do that because these words came up almost every day, and it terrified her each time. 

Cullen, as usual, was already waiting inside, Leliana beside him. Months had passed since he had returned to the Inquisition, but a feeling of nostalgia still washed over her sometimes upon seeing him, with his stupid, imposing coat and the way he stood so straight with his hands on his sword. 

Katria rested her palms against the table. “Good morning. Talk to me about something other than politics.” 

Cullen looked over at Leliana, and when she shrugged, he cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve been getting some conflicting reports about our supply lines in the Emprise du Lion. Apparently, the high dragon on the other side of Judicael’s Crossing has been more active than usual. Edouard said something about it being…ready to spawn?” 

“That sounds bad,” she said. “For a dragon, at least.” 

He nodded. “I am considering going there myself since I haven’t paid a proper visit in years. I can get things straightened out and see for myself what the situation is and whether we can adjust the troop numbers there.” 

Katria paused and danced her fingers across the map. If there was a dragon that needed killing, she should be the one to do it. Mostly because a trip like that would take her _away_ from Skyhold. Away from the discussion of her marriage, and dress fittings, and tea parties. She could dive back into the solitude of the wilderness and maybe feel in control for the first time in months. And it…wouldn’t be so bad to have Cullen along for that.

“Good idea, Commander,” she said, straightening. “I will accompany you.” 

His brow furrowed. “You will?” 

“Absolutely. If there’s a dragon to be killed, I want to do it. And it’s been a hard winter in Sahrnia. We can bring additional aid there.” 

“Oh,” he replied. “Yes. I— _we_ could go. That would not be a problem.” 

Josephine regarded her skeptically. “A short trip, perhaps. Making an appearance in the Dales would not be a bad thing.” 

Katria slapped her hand against the map. “Excellent!” 

She probably sounded too excited, she realized, but the prospect of escape was too sweet for her not to squeal over. “Bull will want to come. Dorian, after some persuasion. Blackwall. I’ll let them know. We’ll depart within the week!” 

She left the War Room quickly after that, hunting down each of her companions and informing them of her plans. Bull, of course, gave a roar of jubilation before rushing off to Harritt to have his weapons prepared for their next ‘epic fight.’ Dorian was nowhere near as excited—it was still too cold there for his tastes. He finally agreed after some snarky remarks, as she expected. 

“I’m not surprised you’re running away to the Dales to avoid this marriage business,” he had said, then shrugged. “At least you’re running away _with_ Cullen this time.” 

Dorian’s comment made her pause for a moment because she did rarely travel with Cullen, and traveling was a close-quarters experience. Hours upon hours in the company of her small party, crowded around the fire, nestled in tents. 

She decided it wouldn’t be a problem because things between them were fine. Or good, rather. She clung to his company as a single light in the suffocating darkness that was everyone else’s expectations for her. They played chess in the afternoons, and he talked to her, laughed at her jokes even when they weren’t funny, and Laurent and politics were never topics of conversation. Perhaps she was purposely ignoring the physical and emotional tension simmering just under the surface of their interactions. But what really grated her nerves was that she was more attracted to him. Which didn’t even make any sense. Cullen did not look or act any differently—he was the same handsome, polite and slightly impatient man, but her attentiveness to his features had grown exponentially. It was…annoying. 

However, it wasn’t anything she couldn’t ignore with just a little more work. 

A week later, Katria set out with her small party, Cullen included. They traveled light, despite Dorian’s complaints, because she preferred to live without noble luxuries on the road. “Roughing it like a blighted barbarian,” as Dorian called it, comforted Katria—she got to use her hands, be close to nature, and not feel like some pampered hero. The social interactions she had felt more genuine, and she had plenty of those with Cullen, which always improved her mood.

Within the week, they arrived in the Emprise du Lion. There were still fairly thick patches of snow around, and plenty of water running off in the creeks in the area. At night, the temperature dipped close to freezing, and it got colder the further they moved into the mountains. The chill in the air did not diminish how warm Katria felt whenever she looked at Cullen or talked to him. It was incredibly refreshing to travel solely with members of her inner-circle again. 

Plus her personal guards. A caravan of supplies. Cullen’s unit of soldiers. Things weren’t _exactly_ how they had been when Katria had set out with her colorful companions in the Hinterland all those years ago. But different didn’t necessarily mean bad. Having Cullen around was certainly a nice addition. 

===

The townspeople of Sahrnia were elated to see Katria when she arrived. Cullen was not surprised by this—everyone was always excited to catch a glimpse of the great Inquisitor. To her credit, Katria did her best to dispel the absurd rumors circulating Thedas about the famed Herald of Andraste. Rather than reveling in the continued praise, she helped unload supplies and interacted with the Orlesians who came to see her. 

Sahrnia was in much better shape than it had been when Samson and his goons had poached members of the town to work in the mines. Thanks to the Inquisition, buildings had been repaired and fortified, the mines were reopened and provided access to safer, normal minerals, and the river, now unfrozen, revitalized the trade routes in the area.

Cullen went through the town examining their defenses and the path that led to the keep. After hearing some brief reports from his soldiers, he went in search of Katria so they could both head further into the mountains. 

Most of the supplies brought by the Inquisition had been dispersed, and Katria stood in the partially empty town square talking to a young woman. In addition to distributing food, warm clothes and blankets had been brought along from Skyhold, and the woman was wearing one around her shoulders. 

A dark-haired toddler, not much older than Jacob, was resting on Katria’s hip as she spoke. The boy fiddled with the silver embroidery of her cloak, fascinated with the way it glinted in the sunlight. 

Cullen stopped just a few feet away from them, his boots crunching in the thin layer of snow on the ground. He caught the tail-end of their conversation. 

“I can’t believe how much he’s grown since I saw him last,” Katria remarked, hoisting the boy higher on her hip and smiling at him. 

“Yes, he’s a curious lad,” the woman replied, just as her son tugged hard on a lock of Katria’s unbound hair, making her wince. 

“I’m so sorry, Your Worship!” she exclaimed, and she reached out for the boy, who reluctantly untangled his pale fist from her hair. 

Katria chuckled. “No, it’s alright.” 

The woman set her son down when he squirmed in her arms. He flew forward with his hands in the snow, patting it into little lumps. “You held him longer than most,” she said. “He must like you.” 

Katria smiled politely. “I like him, too. Children are much less complicated than adults, I’ve found.” 

“Maybe you’ll have some of your own someday.” 

Katria kept her smile plastered on her face, but he saw her throat tighten as she swallowed. “I—maybe,” she said. “I would like that.”

His stomach made some sort of uneasy flip, but he quickly squashed the feeling because he knew he was being foolish—Katria would have children with someone else, not him. Never him. 

The woman looked over where he was standing. “I will quit bothering you, Your Worship, you’ve probably got important things to do. Thank you for speaking to me. Sahrnia is grateful for your aid.” 

“It’s no trouble,” Katria said, as the woman knelt down to scoop up her son. 

“Wave goodbye to the Inquisitor,” she said to the boy. 

He waved clumsily with his hand. “Bye-bye!” 

Katria waved back to him as they left, and Cullen shuffled forward to stand beside her. 

“Inquisitor,” he said. “I finished my business here. Would you like to come with me to the keep?” 

She looked around them. “That’s probably a good idea. I’d like to do more, but that can wait until tomorrow.” 

Cullen rested his hand against his sword. “Helping these people—it really matters to you.” 

“It does,” she said softly; her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “The civil war and the hard winter destroyed this town. I know what it’s like to live with so little.” 

Katria crushed her boot absently into the snow drifts. “After my father died, my sister absconded with all my inheritance. I was so angry that the money I did have left I used to buy myself passage to Ferelden.” She sighed, her breath crystallizing in front of her and then being whisked away by the wind. “Twenty-two, destitute, and miserable. Turns out, poverty’s not so easy to escape from.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “I hadn’t realized…” 

She smiled slightly. “Oh, I made it sound glamorous in Haven, I know. Wandering around, living off the land.” She shifted and waved her hand. “Don’t get me wrong; I did much better after those first few years, and when you and I met, I was self-sufficient, but other times…” 

Katria shook her head and walked across the town square, past the shrine to Andraste, and to a pit with a waning fire. At this time of day, there was no one around. She began rearranging the kindling with practiced efficiency, one knee nestled in the snow. Cullen sat down on the bench near her. 

“Ferelden was…a poor choice of travel right after the Blight,” she remarked. “But I was young, and foolish. I couldn’t stand to be in the Free Marches a second longer, and I _certainly_ wasn’t going to set foot in Orlais. Things were—were shitty, pretty much everywhere. Lothering. Highever. Even Denerim.” 

“I remember passing through Denerim on my way to Kirkwall,” Cullen said. “It was unlike anything I’d seen.” 

“Conditions were poor, but Fereldens are resilient. Loyal. Giving.” Her brow wrinkled as she set a large log against the slowly burning fire. “Most of them anyway.” 

Katria crouched down and gently blew on the embers; they flickered, orange and red against the grainy white ashes. She lifted her head back up. 

“About—Maker, it’s been eleven years now, I was just outside of Denerim. I hadn’t been in Ferelden long. It was cold. _So_ cold.” She rested her arm on her knee. “I arrived at this tavern one night, gaunt and shivering. I hadn’t eaten a full meal in weeks. So, I walk in to the barkeep, _begging_ him for any stray scraps. Something warm.” 

Katria reached up and wiped her reddened nose on her sleeve. “The man, snake that he was, says that he’ll give me some food, but since I had no money, he’d accept something _else_ in exchange.” 

Cullen heard the leather of his gloves crinkle as he clenched his fists. She turned her head slightly and met his gaze; he did not want to think about how furious he looked. 

“I was hungry,” she said. “Starving. So I did it. Had sex with him, and he fed me, the son of a bitch.” 

“Katria,” Cullen said, sounding strangled, desperate to reach for her, though he knew she wouldn’t want that. The rage prickling his skin was sweltering. She lifted her hand. 

“Be angry, if you want,” she said. “But not for me. These people, _thousands_ of them across Ferelden and Orlais, live like that every day. For the entirety of their lives. They’re coerced, like me, to do these terrible things, too many times, just for _food_ for themselves or their families.” 

She clenched her fist and dug it into the snow beside the fire, scowling. “While _I_ now sit around entertaining debates about whether Empress Celene will notice that I didn’t personally sign and transcribe a thank you note I sent her. These nobles fight stupid wars about who gets to sit in some damned chair, and _they_ don’t feel the brunt of it. They don’t go hungry, or watch their homes burn to the ground, or lose their children.”

Katria abruptly stood. “A-And I’m supposed to marry into that?” 

Cullen straightened beside her, leaning forward to reply, but she backtracked. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Forget I brought this up. I marry into that so I have more coin and leverage to help people. Mages. Commoners.” 

She turned away from him, but he reached into her robe to grab her wrist. 

“Had you told anyone that before?” he asked. 

Katria stopped moving. “No.” 

Cullen tugged once on her arm so they faced one another, and then moved his hand to her cheek. She inhaled a small breath at how cold the leather was against her skin.

“You are the strongest and most remarkable woman I’ve ever met,” he said softly. “Look at how far you’ve come. The fact that you give so much of yourself back to the people who need it most is—is _exactly_ why you’re who Thedas needs right now and the greatest hero of our time.”

She exhaled in the silence between them, her eyes glassy, before she pushed his hand away. “How far I’ve come?” she began, her voice hoarse. “That’s why I told you this—I haven’t gone _anywhere_. I needed food, so I slept with a total creep. Now, I need coin and leverage, so I promise Laurent children. I am a body being promised away. It’s just an Orlesian this time.” 

She made a frustrated noise and began walking away from him. 

“It’s not the same, Katria,” Cullen insisted. “You’re-,” 

He stopped when she rounded the corner of a stone home, and her footsteps were all he could see of her. He let his shoulders slump and raised a hand to his forehead. Maker’s breath, he wished he were better at this. Katria had probably stopped talking to him about Laurent for the past two months because he was so terribly inept at saying anything. She was angry; he understood that. Saying _I’m sorry_ over and over again wouldn’t fix anything, and he didn’t have a firm enough understanding of politics to help her navigate out of her situation, if it were even possible. If he had things his way, he’d send the entirety of the Inquisition’s forces to Vivienne’s doorstep and ask her nicely and then very violently to quit her scheming. He might send some men to Duke Ghislain’s fancy estate to warn to him to lay off all the nice gifts he kept sending Katria, too.

None of those were likely workable solutions. Which left him standing alone in the snow, dejected and out of options because the woman he…cared very much for could find no comfort in him. 

===

Katria ventured to Suledin Keep in a sour mood that was not helped by the attention heaped on her once she arrived there. She was good at hiding her displeasure, certainly, and had nothing but kind words as Baron Desjardins lead her around the hold, pointing out all the improvements and changes made since she’d been there last. 

A large caravan arrived from a village nearby, and Katria split off with Edouard to help unload. A menial task, but an important one, since prying the lids off heavy wooden crates distracted her from what a fool she’d made of herself around Cullen. It wasn’t his fault that she was pursuing this course of action to get what she wanted. She was making a sacrifice, and she needed to toughen up and live with it, not take it out on Cullen. Except it was becoming difficult to just _live with it_ because she also lived beside Cullen. Whom she liked very much. 

Two men dumped a crate in front of her, and she jammed her crowbar under the lid after blowing some stray strands of hair from her face. She pushed down with her whole torso until the lid snapped open, sliding to the ground with a _thud_. 

Katria wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, and stepped forward to peer in the crate. She saw a blur of khaki as something _alive_ leapt up. Her hand flew to the dagger at her side and unsheathed it. 

A young, blonde woman with completely disheveled hair was staring at her, chest heaving. She was wearing a loose tunic and breeches, her fingers bright red from the cold, and splinters sticking out of the pale flesh of her palms. 

Katria lowered her knife. “Who—What in the Void are you doing?” 

The girl shakily made her way out of the crate, slumping against it because her legs were cramped from being in a confined space for so long. 

“I demand to speak to the Inquisitor.”

Katria arched a brow. “The good news for you is that you already are.” 

“What?” she said. “You—You’re…the Inquisitor?” 

Katria huffed—she knew her style of dress and the state of her hair was not particularly _Inquisitorial_ , but she assumed she would be recognizable by now. 

“I am. Unless someone has been playing a very elaborate practical joke on me for almost three years.” 

The girl saluted her clumsily across the chest. “If you’re the Inquisitor, I am, um, Mary. I’m a villager and I’ve come here-,” 

“In a crate?” Katria began. “And nice try, but your name clearly isn’t Mary.” 

Her eyes widened. “W-Why would you…” 

“I can be observant, when necessary,” Katria muttered, stepping forward and reaching for one of the girl’s hands. They were soft and in bad shape from the splinters from the crate. “Are you a noble?” she asked. “And don’t lie, because I will put you back in there.” 

The girl nibbled on her lip before sighing deeply. “Yes. I—how did you know?” 

Katria held out her own palm beside hers. The difference was striking—pale, creamy skin versus Katria’s darkened callouses and small nicks and scars. “Yours are the hands that hold tea cups and knit and wave primly—not those of a simple villager. Also, you were hiding in a crate, so you’re either a fugitive or you smuggled yourself from some estate.” 

“My name is Ducette,” she said. “My father is Lord Basile Maron, and I want to work for the Inquisition.” 

Katria tapped the crate with her dagger. “So this was what? The new way southern Orlesians travel?” 

“No,” she replied. “I sort of…ran away. My father does not approve of my attempts to expand my horizons.” 

Katria folded her arms over her chest. “So he’s going to be mad at _us_ you’re here, I bet.” 

“Probably,” Ducette said, then leaned forward with a desperate tone. “But you must allow me to stay. My life at home is a gilded _cage_ and-,” 

Katria held up her hand. “Okay, hold on there. It’s not that easy.” She looked down at the girl’s hands. “Let’s get those splinters out and talk.” 

Ducette thanked her profusely, and they hiked up the stairs to the small fire built near the forge. Katria sat with her on a bench, while she complained briefly about the cold. 

Katria used her dagger to gently pull out the thin wood slivers in the meaty flesh of her palm. “Talk to me about why you ran away from home.” 

“My life is _miserable_ ,” she said, gesturing with her free hand in a typical dramatic fashion. “I spend all day sitting around inside, gossiping and sewing and listening to lectures about how I need to be a proper lady.” She made a disgusted noise. “And now, my father is _forcing_ me into a marriage with this old, slimy Duke, and I…I don’t want that.” 

Katria paused her work, still staring down at her palm. “Most nobles are a part of arranged marriages, I thought.” 

“Yes, that’s what everyone tells me,” she said sourly. “That it’s my _duty_ to do this. That I should think about my family, and my lineage. But I don’t deserve to be miserable!”

“Plenty of people don’t _deserve_ to be miserable, but are anyway,” Katria remarked. 

Ducette held out her other hand, so Katria could begin removing the splinters. She winced only slightly when a bigger shard was pulled out. “I know,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t fight to have things my way. I’m going to stand up for myself—not just sit back and let this happen because it’s _convenient_ for my father.” 

Katria did not think she was in any place to tell this passionate, but slightly naïve young woman how she should live her life. Sure, it was natural to agree with her, and let her work for the Inquisition, but Katria did not want to cause problems with the nobles of southern Orlais if this Lord Maron was upset about his daughter’s tactics. 

“Please, please say you’ll help me,” Ducette implored, with pouted lips. “I will gladly serve the Inquisition, and I have some good skills-,” 

“It’s not about what you can bring to our cause,” Katria said with a shake of her head. “Your father is going to be very upset when he’s found out you’ve run away.”

“I know, I know,” she insisted. “But he’s a very minor noble and you’re good at playing the Game so it shouldn’t be a problem!” 

Katria gave a sharp bark of laughter, which made Ducette jump in surprise. “That’s not me,” she said. 

“But—but you’ll let me stay, right?” she asked in a meek voice. 

Katria sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “For now, yes. I will send a raven to my Ambassador, and perhaps she will have some solutions for me. But try to keep a low profile. You can be Mary the villager, and don’t throw any noble fits, okay?” 

Ducette’s jaw opened in shock before she squealed excitedly. “Oh thank you, Inquisitor! You _won’t_ regret this! Not at all!” The girl jumped up and gave a curtsy before scrambling over the bench and back down the stairs. 

Katria watched her go and then groaned, burying her face in both hands. She heard a pair of feet clapping against the stone floor. 

“Uh, Inquisitor?” 

She swiveled around on the bench, but upon seeing Cullen, considering running away. Or hurling herself into the fire beside her. 

He sat down in front of her, his feet straddling the bench. “Was that—they told me you found a woman in a crate? No one tried to hurt you, did they?” 

Katria snorted. “No. A young noble named Lady Ducette was displeased with the life of a gentlewoman and decided to dress as a villager and smuggle herself out of her father’s estate in a crate.” 

He cocked his head. “Are you serious?” 

She nodded. “Ducette is very insistent that her life there is a gilded cage. She wants to ‘follow her heart’ and work for the Inquisition.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “Once her father finds her here, he will be upset. I can’t very well tie her up and throw her back in the crate, though.” 

“Why can’t we do that?” he asked. 

“ _Literally_?”

“No, not _literally_ ,” Cullen said impatiently. “But we could just make it clear that under no uncertain terms is she allowed to remain with the Inquisition.”

“I—yes, I suppose we could do that,” she replied, fingers rubbing her temple. “But…” She let her hand fall with a slap on the wood between them. “Ducette is upset her father is forcing her into an arranged marriage, and…it doesn’t seem entirely fair for me to make that a reality for someone else when I’m so…resistant to it myself.”

“But you are-,” Cullen cleared his throat. “-planning on marrying Laurent anyway, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I mean, I don’t…” She trailed off, trying to dam up the feelings welling in her chest. “Maybe I…it’s just…” 

Katria looked up, and seeing the concern and compassion on his face did not help her situation. She hesitated—then steeled her nerves and launched herself at him, curling up to his chest with her legs draped across one side of the bench. 

Cullen made a surprised noise before wrapping his powerful arms around her. 

“Maker’s balls, I don’t know,” she whispered. “I should marry him, right? I don’t want to, but I _should_. Laurent’s not some old, slimy duke. He’s nice to me. I need to preserve…” 

Cullen nestled his nose into her hair. “Katria, I’m so sorry, but I don’t know either. I want there to be another way. For you.” 

“Sadly, a charming smile and saying _please stop_ has not worked on any of my political enemies so far,” she muttered. 

“Which is clearly an indication of how misguided your enemies are because your smile is…” He seemed to realize how complimentary he was being because he tensed up and was probably blushing. “Well, um, it’s a nice smile. Or, perfect. It’s my favorite…thing.” 

She buried her face in the fur of his coat. “Shame not everyone has your preferences.” 

His large hand splayed out along her back. “Is there a way you could start investigating your other options? Beyond smiling?” 

Katria shook her head. “Come on, Cullen. I’ve been doing that for _months_.” She tightened her hold on him. “Laurent is the fucking head of the Council of Heralds. His family is very wealthy, and I’m…I’m _so_ bad at appeasing Orlesians. It would be so easy to obliterate Vivienne’s influence this way—all my Orlesian enemies, honestly. I…my other options are risky at best. And what right do I have to risk my reforms for these selfish emotions I’m having?” 

Cullen swallowed. “Those are…compelling reasons.” 

“They are,” she said softly. “I hate it.” 

His chest expanded as he inhaled. “I’m sorry.” 

Katria pulled back to look at him. “The fact that I hate this doesn’t give me any right to take it out on you. I shouldn’t have stormed off.” 

“I understand your frustration,” he said. 

She sighed and rested her forehead against the cold metal of his breastplate. His hand moved in circles across her back. “It was so easy when I was first Inquisitor to sit around and pretend that I would act a certain way and make the right choices,” she said. “Now, it’s so convoluted and reality is much more fucking…difficult than promising myself abstractly I’ll never do something.” 

“The truth forces compromise sometimes.” 

Katria looked back up and fisted her hands in his coat. Her nose was close to his as her chin tilted up. “Quite eloquent for a man wearing a dead bear.” 

“It’s _part_ of a bear,” he pointed out with a small smile. 

Katria admired the soft line of his lip, and his scar, and the prickly stubble on his jaw she used to love to run her fingernails through. She scooted closer to him along the bench. 

“Have I told you how glad I am that you came back?” 

“No, you haven’t,” he replied, his breath gusting across her skin that was numb from the cold. 

“Well, I am very glad,” she said, shaking him once for emphasis. “I…could never do this without you.” She bit her lip, and the intensity of her gaze made his hand stop moving along her back. “I don’t think I realized how sad I’d been without you these past two years until you came back.” 

Cullen’s brow rose slightly. “I missed you, too,” he murmured. 

Katria flexed her fingers in his fur, though her plan to say more embarrassing and ill-conceived things to him was interrupted when a loud screeching echoed through the air. A dragon crested high above the hills to the east on the other side of Judicael’s Crossing, its body and wings dark against the blue sky. It swooped down closer to the bridge before disappearing back onto the ground. 

She felt Cullen pulling her closer to him in some absurd protective instinct despite the fact that she had killed four dragons and him none. 

“Edouard was not kidding about the dragon’s activity,” she remarked. 

Cullen nodded. “The villagers are pretty frightened.” 

Katria scooted back from him. “Have some of your soldiers post themselves nearby—at a _safe_ distance—and monitor it. We need to rest up today, but if it stays this aggressive and continues to impede the merchants moving through the area, we will take care of it before we leave.”

Cullen did not look pleased at the prospect of her fighting a dragon, but nodded anyway. “At once, Inquisitor.” 

“Thank you,” she said, as she stood from the bench. “I’ve got to go send a raven to Josie now.” 

The edge of his lip lifted in a small smile. “I’ll try not to miss you _too_ much.” 

Katria felt a pink tinge rush across her face, thinking about how entirely unfair it was that Cullen sometimes managed to be charming—she was suddenly thankful a terrifying ice dragon interrupted their conversation because she would have likely continued to make a fool out of herself otherwise. Instead, she got to stumble away from him to her room, where she began to compose a letter that forced her to think about all Ducette had said. 

Certainly, the stakes for Katria’s situation were higher than most, but was she fighting, like Ducette? They both greatly disdained the cultural norms of a noble lifestyle and had no interest in marrying into it. Had Katria just accepted the parameters of this marriage because it was convenient and easier? 

Katria grunted and shook her head at that line of thought because logically, her marriage to Laurent was the best course of action for the Inquisition, no question. It was just a matter of if Katria wanted to make her life entirely about her work. If the title of _Inquisitor_ would seep into every compartment of her life so that Katria the woman was just a distant memory. She had struggled all this time because she had thought her personal reticence did not subsume the needs of this entire organization. But her resistance to the marriage had only grown because of Cullen—his earnest desire to help her _cope_ with this reality was only persuading her to abandon her plans. 

Which is exactly what Vivienne wanted; Katria could follow her heart and escape the gilded cage, but at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The interaction with Ducette was inspired by a War Table mission from the game, in case ya'll were worried I'm making up all my shit and being non-canon crazy :P.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some blood and violence in this chapter.

Katria and her team were in the Emprise du Lion for another four days before the dragon became restless again. Or, more accurately, _Bull_ became so restless and pestered Katria so frequently, she finally caved and ordered her party gathered to go kill the dragon. 

About five minutes after she verbally committed to that plan, Cullen was marching over. 

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to delegate this dragon slaying to your troops.” 

Katria was inspecting the sharpened edge of her dagger and only let her eyes flick up to him. “What do you think?” 

Cullen exhaled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Take some of our men with you, at least.” 

“That isn’t necessary,” she said, sheathing her dagger on her back. She straightened completely, and seeing the look on his face, clicked her tongue as she relented. “Okay. _Archers_. They can flank the perimeter and try to ground it.” 

“I’d like to come as well,” he said, hand falling to his sword. 

“Would you?” Katria asked with a raised brow. 

“I don’t think that’s unreasonable,” Cullen insisted. He reached up and rubbed his neck. “If…something were to happen to you, a-and I was just _sitting_ around nearby, I’d never forgive myself.” 

“I will be fine,” she assured him. 

“Well, I don’t-,” He threw his hands out. “What’s wrong with me wanting to be one of a handful of people in Thedas who have actually slain a dragon?” 

Katria grinned. “Oh so this is about your male ego?” 

“It can be about whatever you’d like,” he said. “But I’m coming along.” 

“Alright, Commander,” she replied with an appraising look. “Let’s go then.” 

Katria departed with her party an hour later—stoic Blackwall, Dorian, who still complained about the cold, and Bull with his almost child-like excitement over their current mission. 

They set out on foot, through the ice glinting in the morning sun, and across the bridge. According to Cullen’s men, the dragon was nesting in a small alcove near the road, surrounded on one side by snow-tipped crags. 

“Archers,” Katria announced, as they neared the sight. She spun on her heel, trying to ignore the cold seeping into her bones because she hadn’t brought her cloak along. “On Commander Cullen’s orders, you’ll be flanking the perimeter of this area. Dragon scales are the equivalent to strong armor plates, and you need to aim for weak points. Joints, the juncture of its neck. Puncture its wings because it will fly around if given the chance, and that’s bad news for all of us.” She looked around at them, then nodded. “Be safe. You’re dismissed.” 

Her men saluted to her, and Cullen led them away to the rocks that surrounded the snowy plain the dragon was settled on. Katria trekked forward with her team. They stopped dead upon spotting the dragon, a massive blot of dark blue on a plain of white, lifting itself onto its thick legs. 

Bull gave a low whistle, then bounced on the balls of his feet. 

“What’s the plan, boss?” 

Katria pulled one dagger from her back. She heard the faint buzz of Dorian’s magic as the blue shimmer of his barrier settled over them. 

“The plan is to not die,” she said. “And kill the dragon.”

“Brilliant,” Dorian replied. “Now I see why they made you Inquisitor.” 

Katria threw a glare in his direction before she was distracted by the bone-shaking shriek of the dragon. Its head was flat and ringed with blue scales that darkened as they moved towards its back. 

Bull gave a triumphant roar in reply and charged forward, Blackwall following behind. The dragon lifted its massive wings, the whoosh of air accompanying the movement hitting Katria even from so far away. She followed behind the warriors after disappearing in a flash from her powders. 

Dragon fights were long and drawn-out affairs that Katria disliked to some degree. The adrenaline pumping through her—the intense desire to live and fight—gave her the energy she needed, but many times that wasn’t enough to make it fun. For Andraste’s sake, they used dragon scales to make impenetrable armor; defeating one was not a simple matter of thrusting her daggers forward. Her blades clattered against its skin unless she found the right angle that reached the meaty flesh underneath. Which was not an easy thing to do considering as soon as she got close, the dragon’s leg struck out, claws and all, like a dog scratching an itch on its side. 

Katria flanked its neck, careful not to get too close to its head lest her torso get torn off by its ferocious teeth. She yanked three small daggers from her belt and hurled them at the dragon’s massive yellow eyes. They hit their target, causing the dragon to throw its head back and give a mighty roar that shook the ground. 

“Watch the tail!” she bellowed as she staggered backwards. 

Blackwall was at its back, and like Katria predicted, as the dragon writhed, its fat tail swung around and slammed into his chest, sending him sailing across the snow drifts. Katria cursed under her breath and ducked as the dragon moved around to find her. Blackwall rolled, then pushed himself on one knee, giving her a thumbs up as he used his sword to completely stand. 

Katria heard a war cry beside her and then the _crack_ of the thinner scales on the underside of the dragon’s belly. Bull had cleaved his axe directly into its flesh with a tremendous amount of force. He barely removed his weapon in time as the dragon’s wings snapped open and sent a wall of snow swirling around them. Its feet slowly lifted from the ground and it shot off into the foggy sky, only leaving a pool of thick, red blood in its place.

“Spread out!” Katria ordered, when she saw the dragon crane its neck and send a blast of ice to them. It curved towards Dorian, and he threw up a barrier, forcing the perilously sharp shards of ice around his person. 

She searched the field for her other party members—Blackwall on one knee drinking a potion, Bull sloughing the blood from his axe, Dorian casting a barrier over Cullen as another burst of cold from the dragon barreled towards him. She spotted a body fumbling further away in the snow—an archer, shivering from a long stream of ice the dragon had shot at them from the ground. He must have fallen from his perch when he was hit.

Katria hurried over and helped the young man up. His arm was streaked with red, his bow also slick with blood and cast aside. She reached into her belt and handed him one of her two remaining health potions. 

“Here,” she said. “Take this and find cover.” 

The soldier nodded, still shivering violently, and Katria motioned two others over to help him. She vaguely heard the screech of the dragon echo through the mountains. 

“Hurry,” she ordered, as the three of them limped to the cover of rocks further away. 

Katria spun back around, berating herself for not keeping eyes on the dragon, and-

_Fuck._

She heard her name being called, the sound warped by the strong wind kicking up snow around them. The ice the dragon shot from its mouth was a brilliant blue, not like the gray sky or the brownish snow, and she could see it clearly coming right for her. 

The next thing Katria felt was the sting of cold snow against her face. She heard the crash of ice against metal in a rapid clip all around her, like rain on a tin roof. The noise abruptly stopped, and she flipped around in the pile of snow she was buried in. 

A shield blocked her view of the sky, and she was looking straight into a pair of brown eyes. 

“Cullen?” she said dumbly. He was holding her tightly against him with his free hand, his temple dotted with sweat and streaked along one side with blood. His hair had fallen from its carefully sculpted form and was matted with dirt. 

He lowered his shield that had protected them both from the long shards of ice buried in an arc around them. “Are you alright?” 

“I—I’m…did you just…” Her rambling was interrupted by the dragon landing, making the ground shake violently under them.

Katria straightened and scrambled for her daggers while Cullen stood beside her. She disappeared in another cloud of smoke and circled around to the dragon’s back leg. She and Blackwall hacked at the joint, hoping to sever the tendons there and send it tumbling to the ground. 

The dragon screeched and swatted at them; Katria rolled away just as Blackwall’s blade cut a swath of flesh and sent blood spurting everywhere. The snow underneath them crunched as the dragon collapsed to one side with a throaty whine. 

“Grenade incoming!” Katria exclaimed, as she reached for a flask at her belt and hurled it. It shattered against the dragon’s tough scales before bursting into a ring of flames around its fallen form. The dragon writhed violently in response and curled around to spit ice at them. 

Katria leapt towards its tail, scrabbling for a hold on it. She hoisted herself up and ran along the dragon’s spine, crouching low to keep her balance. The flames around its legs began to die down, and it shoved itself back up. Katria staggered forward, thrusting her dagger _hard_ with both hands into the space between its skull and spine. 

The dragon bucked so violently Katria was flung over her sword, down its flat head and into the snow. Its wings swung out, but the punctures in the leathery flesh made it impossible to fly. 

One leg lifted to swat at her, and Katria rolled in a somersault backwards, though her body ached from falling. Something sharp cut a line across her back, and white, hot pain exploded behind her eyes. She fell out of her evasive maneuver with a gasp, feeling blood gush across her lower back. 

The dragon hoisted its torso up, towering over her, and smacked its jaw—yellow eyes with paper-thin pupils stared down at her. 

Which was bad. Very bad. 

Katria had three small daggers between her fingers against the dragon’s fifty some odd razor-sharp teeth. She pushed herself up into a defensive position, her gloves soaked and fingers shaking from the cold. 

The dragon lowered its head—the shriek it made rattled her eardrums, and the air began to cool as the dragon inhaled. Rather than feeling the painful sting of ice or teeth against her armor, she heard another garbled cry. 

The red of Cullen’s coat was only a blur as he drove his sword up into the dragon’s skull. Bull was on the other side of him, prying his axe from the scales it was embedded in.

The dragon staggered and wobbled, and then its wings shuddered violently before it collapsed with a deafening _thud_ , dead. Its neck arced through the air as it fell; the head crashed to the ground inches from her feet. Snow and blood splattered in an blanket across her chest. 

It was silent after that. Katria heard herself panting and her knives sliding from her fingers and plopping into the snow. Bull’s victorious whoop echoed through the air. Whatever adrenaline she had left leaked out of her, and she didn’t even care that her sword was still wedged in the top of the dragon’s skull. 

She lowered herself slowly to the ground and flopped back against the bank of snow the dragon had made when collapsing. The cold slowly numbed the sharp heat on her back, though she hated the sticky slowness of the blood soaking into the fabric of her hunter’s coat. She closed her eyes and in one long exhale, tried to catch her breath. 

“Inquisitor,” a voice said, as footsteps approached. “Are you alright?” 

Katria just nodded as Cullen sat beside her. He dropped his shield in the snow and she looked over at it. The beveled metal design was almost unrecognizable now from the pockmarks the ice shards had left. 

Cullen hissed in pain when he tried to rest on his arm. 

“Are you hurt?” Katria asked, turning her head to look at him. 

“Not too badly,” he said. “My shield arm got a little beat up.” 

She weaved her fingers together on her stomach. “So you’ve slain a dragon now. How did it feel?” 

“During the fight?” he began. “Terrible. Now, I’m…tired?” He grinned. “But it was thrilling. I can understand Bull’s enthusiasm.” He watched as Bull tried to extract some of the dragon’s teeth with a huge smile. “ _Some_ of his enthusiasm, at least.” 

She sighed. “Yeah, after about the third one, it gets a little tiresome.” She looked down her nose at the dragon’s head inches from her foot. Her brow furrowed. “I almost feel a little bad.” 

“You would say that,” Cullen replied. “To be fair, you are only protecting the people of Sahrnia, and attacking because it was being aggressive.” 

“Very aggressive,” she said, thinking about the pain in her back, fairly and begrudgingly admitting she’d need a healer for the wound. Though it could have been worse. 

Katria exhaled slowly and looked over Cullen, propped up in the snow beside her. He was inspecting a cut on his leg; his unkempt hair fell across his forehead as he worked. 

“You saved me, Cullen,” she remarked, and he lifted his head to meet her gaze. “Big time.”

He smiled slightly. “Aren’t you glad I came along?” 

Katria snorted. “I guess—but you’ll just say saving me is a part of your job, won’t you?”

Cullen shifted, his dirt-streaked face suddenly serious. “No,” he said. “I saved you because I can’t live without you, Kat.” 

_Kat_. He’d called her Kat. He hadn’t done that in—in years. She tried to ignore the rush of romantic feelings that gushed out of her because she was covered in sweat and dirt and bleeding in a way that could be described as profuse. Oh, there was also a dead dragon next to them. 

“Cullen-,” 

“Maker’s breath, are you _bleeding_?”

Cullen scrambled back, both of them staring down at the red stain slowly growing out from her waist—it was faint, more of a pinkish swirl than anything, but because of the snow more visible than normal. 

“I’m fine,” Katria insisted, but Cullen ignored her and lifted her gently up by her shoulder. 

“We need to get you back,” he said, inspecting the wound. 

“I’m really fine,” she said again, her boots scraping in the snow trying to get enough friction to stand. “Just-,” 

Cullen knelt down and scooped her up in his arms, wrenching an indignant gasp from her. 

“I do not need to be _carried_ ,” she said, as he trekked past the dragon and a snickering Dorian. 

“You’re hurt.” 

“Put me down,” Katria ordered sternly, grabbing onto his blood-stained coat for balance. “I swear, if you don’t…” 

“Oh, fight me.”

“Don’t think I won’t, you son of a-,” She winced as a bolt of pain shot through her from her back. The numbness from the snow was wearing off, and the wound felt worse than ever. 

Cullen quickened his pace, and she ceased her escape attempts with her head rested against him. 

“This is so embarrassing,” she muttered. 

“Embarrassing?” he began incredulously. “Kat, there’s nothing embarrassing about needing help sometimes. It’s not like I haven’t carried you out of the snow before.” 

“I was unconscious that last time, so it doesn’t count,” Katria pointed out. She then sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Cullen.” 

“Always, Kat.” 

She winced because she was still in pain at each jostle as they crossed the bridge, though it was better than walking, but also because Cullen needed to be locked away in some dungeon somewhere where he could stop being so—so like _himself_. So like a big, stupid hero she was maybe, probably in love with. 

===

There was a massive celebration at the keep after the Inquisitor arrived at the gates. Cullen didn’t really understand all the excitement—it was dragon number five, after all, though he supposed people would find any excuse to drink ale and dance. Bull was at the center of the festivities. Dragon-slaying revitalized him like nothing Cullen had ever seen. 

Cullen, on the other hand, was exhausted. He hadn't gone with them for the thrill of killing something. That did not interest him, though he told Katria it did because she would not like that he went for the sole purpose of protecting her because he--cared deeply for her. The adrenaline and excitement from fighting and killing the dragon had ebbed away; now, all he had was an aching arm and a set of armor that desperately needed to be polished. Rather than do that necessary cleaning, Cullen went in search of the Inquisitor to ensure she was in good health. Knowing Katria, she had been disingenuous about how severe her injury had been. 

He found her down the stairs from the main tower, where the merchant stalls had been set up. They were deserted right now—the whole keep was concentrated in the area where the ale was being cracked open and served. She was pacing, trotting through the light layer of snow that had fallen across the ground. 

“Katria,” he said, and she stopped. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” 

“Why?” she asked. “I feel fine.” 

“The wound wasn’t deep?” 

She shrugged. “The healer said it will scar, but not as badly as the others.” 

“Is something else troubling you, then?” he asked; he gestured to her footsteps in the snow. “You seem anxious.” 

Katria smiled wanly and shook her head. “You realize I’m the Inquisitor, right? There’s always something to be anxious about.” 

He leaned against the stone statue beside them. “Anything specific?” 

She flexed her fingers and began pacing again. “I’m trying—you talked to me about other _options_ and…” She exhaled sharply. “Here: I’m scared. I said it.” 

Cullen crossed his arms over his chest. “Scared?” 

“Yes,” Katria said. “I know I can be reckless at times-,” 

“You ran up a dragon’s spine today,” he interjected—it had been magnificent, her balance was impeccable, but it had still made his heart jump to his throat. 

“I don’t always like risk,” she insisted. “And these other options that I’m supposed to think about—not that I even _have_ any—are risks.” Katria held the bridge of her nose. “I reject Laurent and try to neutralize Vivienne and gain influence in Orlais another way. But what if that fails? I’d never forgive myself if…”

“Kat-,” 

She threw her hand down. “I mean, sure, if I killed her, my problems are solved, but Maker that’s—that’s bad.” 

“Bad?” Cullen began with an arched brow. 

“Yes _bad_ ,” Katria said. “Killing people is bad.” She stopped and looked at the stone statue he was leaning against, her brow deeply wrinkled. “This is where I fought that demon—Imshael.”

Cullen nodded. “I remember reading your report.” 

“He was what Bull would call a _talky_ demon—kind of a smart-ass,” she said. 

“So you liked him?” he asked, and Katria playfully thwacked him across the shoulder. 

“I _soundly_ rejected the choices he gave me,” she pointed out, then her smile faded. “But do you know the first thing he said to me?” She turned back around, staring down at some point on the uneven stone floor. “He looks at me with some stupid smirk, and says: ah, the hero arrives. But is it hero? Or murderer? It’s so hard to tell.” 

Cullen frowned. “You should not listen to anything that demon said.” 

“He wasn’t wrong,” Katria said, facing him. “I _am_ a murderer.” She rested her fist against her temple. “I’ve been so tempted to—killing her would solve my problems, Cullen. I feel like a terrible person for even _considering_ doing it.” 

“You are not a terrible person. You’ve been faced with a difficult choice.” He reached out and gently touched her hand. “I know you’ll do the right thing. I’ve seen you spare the lives of men who tried to erase you from existence, who sent you into the Fade, who attacked our home with a _goat_ -,”

Katria giggled and broke into a wide smile—he’d never been happier to see that expression. She swatted his chest before he lifted his hand to the nape of her neck. Her hair was damp and cool against his skin. 

She sighed and met his eyes. “What do you think I should do?” 

“I-,” Cullen stopped because he had positively no clue what to tell her. He knew the truth of the matter: that he cared for her deeply, that when he had told her he loved her all those years ago it felt nothing like it did now. 

But what would that confession accomplish other than heartache? He could never ask her to give up her marriage to Laurent for him. First, because if she was right, and none of her other options worked, Katria would spend the rest of her life resenting him for being partially responsible for her reforms being reversed. And second what _right_ did he have to ask that of her anyway? He had ended things between them and was not going to jeopardize her attempts to keep the Circles liberated—not when he’d spent so many years in those Circles witnessing and participating in abuses of power.

Cullen knew he would have to wait. Wait patiently for her to decide on her own what she wanted, and if she rejected Laurent, then—then he’d be the happiest man in Thedas. If she didn’t, he’d…live with it. And a broken heart. 

“I don’t think killing anyone is the right answer,” he finally said. “You’re above all that.” 

She nodded, and then her fingertips grazed his chest. He only wore a tunic, so her touch sent tingles down his spine. “I know,” she whispered. “I want to have a legacy of…being good. I can’t jeopardize that because I’m thinking selfishly. Vivienne doesn’t deserve to die just because her opinions are philosophically different from mine. Or because she’s a little devious.” 

He ran his thumb along the smooth curve of her cheek— _that_ was certainly the trademark of the morally-righteous woman he was so enamored with. “Let me send my best retinue of soldiers to Vivienne’s estate. With catapults. That will teach her a lesson.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she said with a faint grin. “Are you sure they’re calibrated correctly for that sort of thing?” 

“My catapults are _always_ calibrated correctly,” he replied indignantly.

“I’m teasing,” she said, and he snorted. She looked at his tunic and bunched the fabric experimentally between her fingers. “While I appreciate your suggestion, I worry that your men will be in danger showing up at her estate. Or, that Vivienne will slant it as an act of aggression and be justified in the eyes of Orlais to retaliate. I don’t want to start a war or skirmish.”

“What about her job as Court Enchanter—is there a way to take that from her?” he asked. 

“Empress Celene makes those appointments,” Katria explained. “I’ve already asked her to remove Vivienne from her post, and she refused. Celene is afraid that if she does what I ask for no reason other than that’s what I _want_ , more people will accuse her of being the Inquisitor’s puppet.” 

“I see.” He sounded dejected, he knew that, but it seemed more and more that rather than there being another solution, this marriage to Laurent was what the last resort was. 

She patted his chest. “I will speak to Josephine when we arrive back at Skyhold.” Her fingers lingered, then she moved them down, tracing the flat muscles on his stomach through his tunic. He stiffened and cleared his throat while she continued. 

“For now, since I am many, _many_ miles away from this problem, I want to forget about it. I want to relax, pretend all this doesn’t exist, and do what I want.” 

“What do you want?” he asked, then, like an _idiot_ , he licked his lower lip—she flushed red and gave an embarrassed laugh. Her hand withdrew from his chest. 

Cullen considered letting go of her and running far, far away, but before he could, she rested her hand over his as it cupped her cheek. 

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Do you…have any suggestions for me?” 

Cullen had suggestions. Mostly they involved a lack of clothes, his room, or her room, or anywhere, really. He’d had those ideas locked away firmly in his mind the whole day—they’d spawned while fighting the dragon because even in the heat of battle he’d taken one, innocent second to admire her deftness and skill and her long, slender legs and the curve of her ass as she leapt on top of a _dragon_ to thrust her sword into its skull. All highly inappropriate observations that rattled around his brain for the rest of the day.

She tightened her hold on his hand because he’d fallen silent. 

“Cullen-,” 

He heard the scrape of ice against stone beside him and turned with a venomous glare to whoever was climbing the stairs. He supposed his anger was misplaced because they were technically in an incredibly public space. 

It was an Inquisition messenger, and Cullen felt Katria pulling away from his hand. 

“Your Worship,” the man began. “This just came by raven for you from Ambassador Montilyet. It's marked as urgent.” 

She accepted the rolled parchment offered to her. “Thank you,” she said as she unfurled it. The messenger saluted to her and disappeared back into the waning sunlight. 

Cullen scowled as she read the missive, thinking that Skyhold had better be burning to the ground for her to be interrupted at a time like this. 

Katria stared down longer than he thought, than she began rubbing the letter between her fingertips. 

“What’s wrong?” Cullen asked. 

She folded it calmly and finally looked up at him. “I have to go, Cullen. I’m sorry.” 

“Go?” he said. “Go where?” 

“Skyhold." 

“ _Skyhold_?” he repeated incredulously. “Why?” 

Katria’s brow wrinkled and she looked at him, her eyes unreadable in the dim light. 

“Laurent is coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen gets to be the hero, yay! Now the story shifts into high gear because we're in the home-stretch. :O


	25. Chapter 25

So Katria left for Skyhold. She silently cursed the fact that she couldn’t for _one second_ escape this inevitable reality, though she should have known running away from her problems wouldn’t help anything. She just liked Cullen more. 

They made better time on the trip back home. Josephine’s missives continued to be paragraphs of fretting because their plan was to arrive in Skyhold in the morning, when Laurent’s caravan would arrive later that afternoon or the next day. 

Katria did not understand why she had to be in Skyhold when Laurent stopped by on his way back home to his estate in Val Royeaux. But, Josie said that marriage or no, the Inquisition needed to take every opportunity to impress him. Katria hated how this concept of _nobility_ ordered people—they pandered desperately to Celene, Laurent, Marcus Pentaghast just because they had money and power.

Cullen accompanied her back to Skyhold—she wasn’t sure why, though she had a feeling it was because of Laurent. Maybe he was being protective, or maybe it was something more. She tried not to think about it because loving Cullen was not a reason to dispense with the Inquisition’s needs. Not that he’d given any indication that his feelings were anything more than physical for her anyway. 

They rode through the gates of Skyhold and into a conspicuously clean courtyard. Josephine was waiting for her, practically vibrating with excitement, and before Katria could say anything to Cullen, she was whisked away to her quarters. 

Her hair was scrubbed, fingernails cleaned, wounds inspected, all while Josephine paced and dictated political intricacies that Katria was supposed to care about. They also discussed her agenda for the day, which first and foremost included a private meeting with Laurent. Which meant she would be forced into a dress. 

Katria regarded it wearily as it hung on a hook in her room. 

“Do you like it?” Josephine asked hopefully. 

She narrowed her eyes. “You made it dark blue so I wouldn’t be upset about the neckline, didn’t you?” 

“I figured it would be an adequate compromise,” she said, plucking the dress from the wall. “This style is very popular right now.” 

Katria stepped into the dress, trying not to literally growl as it was buttoned up. The material was a thicker-wool blend, and the cut was tight at her waist and flared out to the floor. The long sleeves had intricate embroidery along the edges that matched the embroidery sewn around the v-shaped neckline. It dipped lower than she’d like, and she made sure to verbally express that multiple times to Josephine, while she tried to continue to talk about the plans for the day. 

“The interlude-,” 

“Tea party,” Katria interjected, tugging at the collar of the dress. “I’m having a tea party.” 

“A private interlude with Duke Ghislain,” she said. “He expressed an interest in getting to know you better.” 

Katria shifted uncomfortably; her hands were sweaty now and she rubbed them on the woolly fabric. “Josie, I…” She swallowed. “I really don’t want to marry him.” 

Josephine stopped fiddling with the hem of the dress and stood straight. Her expression was nothing but diplomatic. “I see,” she said. “I know you had some initial reticence, but I assumed you overcame it considering how…few options we have if our goal is to neutralize Vivienne.”

“What would you do if you were in my place?” Katria asked. 

Josephine squeezed her arm. “You know I have a betrothed, and that my family has certain expectations for me. I was raised in this environment, and perhaps that has desensitized me to the difficulties you are facing. In your situation, I would marry Laurent—he comes from a powerful family and would greatly benefit the Inquisition, but that does not mean I expect you to do that.” 

Katria’s brow furrowed in a look of despair. “You would marry him, even though you care for someone else?” She hesitated. “Blackwall, he…sends you flowers every week. He cares for you.” 

Josephine let her go with a deep sigh. Her voice was even, but softer. “Blackwall is a gallant man, no matter what name he chooses. Alas, there are too many differences between us in station.” She looked sideways at the mantle, the light from the fire bathing her smooth face in shades of yellow and orange. “It must be _la splendeur des coeurs perdus_.” 

“My Orlesian is a little rusty,” Katria remarked. “A lot rusty, actually.” 

“It’s an Orlesian term,” she explained. “The splendor of lost hearts.” 

Josephine faced her and twirled her finger. Katria walked over to the chair by the fireplace and sat in it, while Josie stood behind her and began separating strands of her freshly-washed hair. 

“What does that mean?” Katria asked. 

Josephine had been humming to herself as she worked, but stopped to answer her. 

“It is when a passion is known, but cannot be consummated—even though the would-be lovers wish it with all their yearning. Looks may be exchanged. A small token may be left for one to find…” She stopped her work for a moment and sighed. “But that is all it can ever be.”

Something wet dropped from her chin down to the neckline of her dress. Katria’s hand shot to her cheek; when she pulled her fingers back they were wet, holding the last remains of moisture from the single tear that had escaped from her eyes. 

She balked at her sentimentality and inhaled an angry breath. 

“That doesn’t seem very _splendid_ ,” she said. 

“In _la splendeur des coeurs perdus_ , love is respected, but known,” Josephine said. “The ardor is bittersweet but named.” 

“And that’s supposed to help?” Katria’s voice came out harsher than she intended, but Josie retained her serene tone. 

“For some, perhaps,” she replied. She had tied-off Katria’s hair into some elaborate up-do, and walked around to the front of the chair to place some errant strands around her temples.

Katria stared down at the ground, eye scanning Josie’s unwrinkled stockings. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. 

Josephine helped her stand and then walked across the room to retrieve her slippers. “No one is asking you to say yes to Laurent right now,” she said mildly. “However, he is a special guest here, and you need to be a gracious host.” 

Katria fidgeted with her hands. “So, you don’t think—he won’t…ask me or anything, will he?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, placing her dark blue slippers on the ground beside the hem of her dress. “He could-,” 

Her voice cracked as she spoke because panic stabbed her in the gut like a knife. “J-Josie.” 

Josephine held up her hands to placate her. “Inquisitor, don’t panic,” she said. “This is not about love. He will not recite a poem or kneel down before you with a ring. He will hand you a contract. If he does, tell him you will need to review the terms with your Ambassador.” 

Katria swallowed. “I could still say no? Won’t that upset him?” 

“Laurent is a reasonable sort,” she replied, then tapped her arm. “And, you, Inquisitor, are more persuasive than you give yourself credit for.” 

She nodded. “Okay, then I will attend this tea party-,”

“Interlude.” 

“And after we can discuss our options,” she finished, then bit her lip. “We _have_ other options, right?” 

Josephine brushed some lint from her shoulders. “Inquisitor, you…” She finally met her gaze, and her expression was not comforting. “You know what our options are. That’s why you agreed to this in the first place.” 

She had. And then Cullen came along. Or _Vivienne_ came along, dragging Cullen with her, and it wrecked her life and there was nothing _splendid_ about the fact that her love for Cullen was unrequited and _lost_.

Katria clenched her fist—the tightness of her dress felt like a suffocating vice now. 

“There _must_ be-,” 

Josephine grabbed her arms. “Inquisitor—Katria, it’s going to be alright. We’ll think of something.” 

Katria knew that might not be true, but took a deep breath through her clenched teeth anyway. She tugged up the neckline of her dress. “Right. You’re right.” 

Josephine smiled. “You still have some time before meeting with Laurent. I’m going to go make sure everything is just right—I’ll come fetch you when his caravan is spotted.” 

“Thank you, Josie.” 

Her ambassador stepped back, then snapped her fingers. “Oh, do not forget to wear that bracelet,” she said. “I’m glad I remembered.” 

“Bracelet,” Katria repeated dumbly. “The—right.” 

Josephine’s pleasant expression faded slightly. “Inquisitor, you have it, yes? That is an incredibly important piece to him.” 

Katria put her fingers against her temple, her thoughts jumbled with an added crescendo of _oh, fuck_. When was the last time she saw that stupid thing? The Wintersend banquet? She definitely had it then because Vivienne had spoken to her about it. 

After that? Her mind was blank. Katria berated herself for being so drunk she couldn’t remember where she’d put it. 

“ _Katria_.” 

She looked up and cleared her throat. “Oh, I—yep, it’s somewhere.” 

Josephine made a small wincing noise. “Inquisitor, that bracelet is a precious Ghislain family heirloom, and one of the few pieces Laurent has to remember his _deceased_ mother by.” She began pacing. “He gave it to you as a symbol of his commitment to your potential arrangement and with the expectation you’d be wed someday, and if you’ve _lost_ it…”

“I haven’t lost it,” Katria insisted weakly. “I…simply need to find it.” She put her hand on her hip and nervously tapped her fingers. “But, on the off-chance I don’t do that, how bad would it be?”

Josephine tried to take a calming breath. “Duke Ghislain would—would certainly be angry. It would be deeply offensive to him. He could possibly refuse to marry you. And then could even become quite the opponent of the Inquisition.” She squeezed her shoulder. “You _must_ find it.”

“I will,” Katria said quickly. “Josie, I will. Don’t even worry about it. Okay?” 

Josephine pursed her lips and stepped back. “I will appraise Leliana of the situation, and perhaps she can help you. Look around your quarters; it’s likely somewhere around here.” 

“Definitely.” 

Josephine hesitated, probably desperate to start the search herself, before she grabbed her writing board and hurried off. Katria waited until she was down the stairs and out the door before she groaned and buried her face in both hands. 

She scrambled around the room, tripping on the hem of her dress, tearing through everything she owned searching for the bracelet. She raked through all the trinkets in her desk—they clattered to the floor as she became more frantic. 

It quickly became obvious that the bracelet was not there. Was not in any drawer, or pocket, or buried in some skirt of the many dresses she loathed to own. 

Katria made a strangled noise and began pacing the floor. This was bad. She was fucked. 

Fuck. 

===

Cullen was weighed down with more dread each day they got closer to Skyhold. Reality set in, and it made him wring the reins of his horse raw. It had been so easy to promise himself that he would do the noble thing and let Katria do what was best for the Inquisition, but now that abstract promise was groaning under the weight of his racing thoughts—Katria with another man, _married_ , and eventually she’d…Maker, he couldn’t allow himself to think that far ahead. 

Once they reached Skyhold, Katria was dragged away, throwing him some longing glance that he didn’t quite understand, but wanted to. He walked up to the battlements, scowling every time he caught sight of the winding road leading to the portcullis. A gilded caravan would traverse that path soon—replete with a noble and probably an entire wagon full of gifts just for Katria. 

Cullen returned to his office, bit the head off of some poor messenger, and sat at his desk reading reports. He soon exhausted all possible avenues for work and, desperate for a distraction, went to find Harritt and talk to him about getting a new shield to replace his old one. 

The Great Hall was more crowded than usual, probably because of Duke Ghislain’s impending visit—people eager to bask in the presence of someone they deemed powerful. Most of his walks through that room were peppered with bits of gossip from clusters of nobles—he never cared to listen to them, but always heard small bits of conversation, anyway. 

“She’ll say yes to him, surely.” 

Cullen abruptly halted his quick stride upon hearing those words, turning on his heel and pretending as if something on the table near him was terribly interesting. 

“She’d be a fool not to.” 

“Handsome heirs, if they take after _him_.” 

“Oh you!” 

“Well, I suppose that nose is noble enough.”

“Don’t be a fool—it’s too early for all that.” 

“I think not. They’ll be sewing gowns in Val Royeaux even now.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Her returning _dalliance_ -,” 

“Ah, the lure of command.”

“Careful. Ears.” 

Cullen, unable to listen any further, stalked off with a disgusted scowl. He did not have a level enough temper to converse with Harritt, so he simply looped through the garden and back to his office. He paced the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists. He found himself missing Mia, even Bran—their advice would ground him, yet they were hundreds of miles away, and a raven with a letter would not do his struggle justice. 

He was old enough to know that his anger came from the fact that he felt so _powerless_. He had to stand and watch like some noble spectator while Katria let her anxiety consume her. 

Cullen tried to calm himself—Laurent was obviously not in Skyhold to propose to her, and even if he was, she would have the opportunity to turn him down, if she wanted to. He hated how so much of him wanted to run to Katria and beg her not to marry this duke. 

He could not bring himself to be so selfish, though, despite the fact that the alternative made his blood boil. Cullen also could not shake the overwhelming sense of guilt growing in his gut. 

If he hadn’t ended their relationship all those years ago, if he would have just tried a _little_ harder and not cared so much about his fucking job, things might be different. They might have weathered it, and stayed together, gotten married so that this problem would have never existed. No marriages for power or political scheming, just the two of them and maybe—maybe _their_ heirs. Except they wouldn’t be heirs, but children, who they loved and created together and—

Cullen leaned over his desk, palms flat against it, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He was a fool for letting those thoughts cross his mind, when Katria was probably at that moment being put in some dress in anticipation of meeting with a noble who’d probably give her another fucking piece of expensive jewelry.

Because that’s how Orlesians showed affection—with _things_. Gold and jewels and fine fabrics did not make Laurent a better man than Cullen. His noble blood had no meaning; he would not treat Katria better because of it. Cullen was the one who protected her—from dragons, from anything. Why couldn’t they be together?

Cullen sat against his desk to give his legs a rest before jumping up with a disgusted noise. He spun around and gave a piece of furniture a withering glare. It wasn’t the same desk, was it? It couldn’t be. How could Katria have kept a straight face for two years, talking to Rylen at a desk where she’d had sex with another man? 

Cullen ran his finger along the decorative edge—it wasn’t the same, he could tell almost immediately, since he’d spent so long day-dreaming about the original one. Katria was gone for such long stretches of time fighting Corypheus that he’d sit at his desk, envisioning their reunions, and then one particular reunion became a reality right inside his office. 

That singular night with her, Cullen—the Commander of the Inquisition—hadn’t cared that he had three doors in his office, windows with no glass, and guards right outside on the battlements; Katria turned him into some stumbling puddle of a man, filled with lust and admiration and anxiety, and then she said she wanted to be with _him_ , and they’d had a…perfect night. 

A night that turned into a perfect morning, though he did not smile this time at the memory. 

_He looked like an idiot in the War Room. He knew it. Grinning like some besotted fool as they talked about supply requisitions and troop movements, but he couldn’t help it._

_He had woken up in the morning beside a woman— the woman that he loved. And she’d said ‘I love you’ back to him, and everything was just so unfairly perfect, even though his office floor was a cluttered mess, and even though he knew people had plenty of gossip about them._

_Katria arrived in the War Room, cheeks flushed, sheepishly biting her lip until she saw him and beamed. Cullen smiled back at her the entire meeting until his cheeks hurt._

_When their business concluded, Josephine and Leliana left the room, giving knowing looks and waggling eyebrows. Katria stayed on her side of the table, running a slender hand through her hair._

_Cullen kept smiling, his heart suddenly hammering in his ears, and walked over to her. He reached out to gather her in his arms, but she stopped him with a palm flat against his breastplate._

_Her voice was low and seductive and it made him clench his fists from want._

_“How inappropriate, Commander.”_

_She took a few steps backwards and he followed her, smirking._

_“Meeting’s over,” he said. “This is just a room with a very…sturdy table.”_

_Katria giggled in delight at his insinuation, her face tinged with pink._

_“You’re still the Commander of the Inquisition,” she whispered, as the space between them became paper thin. “I’m still your boss.”_

_Cullen slid his gloved hand across her cheek and into her neatly-plaited hair._

_“Are you telling me I can’t kiss the Inquisitor in the War Room?”_

_Katria bit her lip. “That would be so unprofessional, wouldn’t it?”_

_They were fairly close to the door now. With a grin, Cullen wrapped an arm around her waist, hoisting her body up and against him, so her feet dangled a few inches off the ground. He shoved open the door with his other hand and burst into the hallway._

_In another swift movement, Cullen turned them around and pressed her to the closed door. He captured her lips, and the surprised sound she made, with a kiss._

_He liked how well he remembered her lips. Their kisses were no longer explorations, nor were they tentative. Her mouth against his was the same as his hand in the worn grip of his sword. There was a fit, an older, deeper nostalgia that made it about more than lust or the fire she ignited in his gut. It was more than a kiss because it was also Katria, and he loved her, and he wanted every single thing he ever did to communicate that because his words were not enough._

_Katria was destroying his carefully slicked-back hair with her fingers; she always did that because it was the one part of him not encircled by metal. Cullen withdrew from her haltingly, trying to remember to breathe, but always drawn back to the give of her soft lips._

_Katria eventually tilted her head further up to break their kiss, her nose grazing his cheek. Her short laugh was just a huff of air that warmed his skin._

_“I’m not sure this hallway is much better.”_

_He raised an eyebrow. “Very critical for a woman who was kissing me so willingly just moments ago.”_

_“True,” she said softly, snaking her arms around his neck and pulling them together against the door. “I think we damned privacy permanently after last night.”_

_The thought of Katria against his desk, her very much naked body aglow in the candlelight, made warmth flush through him, and he found her mouth again, tracing her lips with his tongue and nibbling until she grasped his coat and yielded to him as her breath left her lungs._

_She rolled her hips against him, the friction of their breeches making him groan. He could feel her legs and their restless movement—she wanted to be wrapped around him, and he wanted that too. Cullen wanted her right there against the door, and before he let himself fall face-first into that bad idea, he pulled away with a sharp exhale through his nose._

_“You are devious,” he said, a little breathless._

_“I think you like it,” she replied archly._

_Cullen ran his hands up her sides. “I do,” he said. “I--I like everything about you.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, actually.”_

_Katria’s face softened, a smile tugging at the curve of her lip. “I love you, too, Cullen.”_

_He’d never been happier to hear something twice in the same day._

Cullen was clenching his fist so tightly it was shaking. He lifted his head from where it hung near the desk. So many good days like those forgotten because of their anger and their jobs. And now there would be no more good days for them because she was marrying someone else. Having a child with _someone else_. 

His fist slammed hard into the unfamiliar desk, rattling the ink wells and bottles on it. He stood and tried to take control of his temper, while the door across from him swung open. 

Katria burst into the room and spoke as soon as she saw him. 

“Oh, thank the Maker you’re here.” 

She strode further into his office while he stood frozen by his bookshelves. 

“W-What’s wrong, Inquisitor?” he managed to stammer out. His eyes slid down to what she was wearing—a well-fitted, wool dress that covered all of her except for the deep v-neck cut of the front. “You look…” 

She awkwardly rubbed her neck. “Yeah, I know. I look weird and dressy,” she said.

“No, lovely,” he replied hurriedly. “Really beautiful.” 

Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked at the ground. “I’ve been forced into this because I’m supposed to be welcoming Laurent to some private tea party.” She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Except that I have a serious problem.” 

“Can I help?” he asked. 

“Hopefully,” she replied earnestly. “Do you remember a few months ago at the banquet when you found me under the Great Hall? I was—I had a little too much to drink.” 

“I remember,” he said with a nod. 

She began pacing, her dress rustling around her ankles. “I was wearing a bracelet that night; it was a very expensive gift from Laurent that once belonged to his mother. It seems I’ve…lost it, and I was wondering if you remembered seeing me with it.”

Cullen’s eyes widened. “That was from _him_? You…you threw it on the ground.” 

“Yes,” she said, then buried her face in one hand. “Maker’s balls, yes, I know. You picked it up, right?” 

Katria stopped and took a step towards him, grabbing his arm. “ _Please_ tell me you have it. Josie thinks that Laurent might threaten to break off our—our agreement if he discovers I’ve lost it.”

“Break off the marriage?” he said. “If you don’t…” 

“Yes,” she replied grimly. “Josie is beside herself, and so am I because I just can’t… _remember_. So have you seen it?” 

Cullen had seen it. Every day in the drawer of his desk since he accepted his old job. He had no idea it was from Laurent, of course. It hadn’t occurred to him—he just wanted to keep it because it was _hers_. Now the thought of having it repulsed him. Though… 

His eyes darted guiltily to his desk. He flexed his fingers, looked into her wide, worried eyes, the tense lines of her face. A face that he loved, that he would give anything to wake up and see every morning. 

“I don’t…” His voice gave out, and he cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor. I didn’t pick it up, and I haven’t seen it.” 

Katria’s shoulders slumped. “Well, fuck.” She put her hand to her forehead and winced. “I guess I will go check my rooms again. Maker, when Laurent finds out…” 

She continued muttering to herself, but Cullen didn’t hear her, all sound drowned out by the frantic cadence of his heart and the clash of thoughts in his conscience. 

_She knows I'm lying. Oh, Maker, she already knows._

_What in the Void are you doing, Rutherford?_

_She won’t forgive you._

_Don’t be so selfish._

_She won’t find out._

_Why am I lying?_

_I need her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adapted Josephine's dialogue in this chapter from her in-game discussion about her relationship with Blackwall--I could not think of Orlesian terms like that myself, that's for sure!


	26. Chapter 26

Katria left—Cullen heard the click of the door as he stared at the ground—and a swift surge of guilt crashed over him. He was paralyzed, stuck between his sudden urge to dart after her or hide under his desk and hope she never found out. 

He stood, brow furrowed and jaw clenched, for an indeterminate amount of time before he went to his desk and opened his top drawer. With a shaking hand, he reached for the bracelet—he felt _nauseous_ looking at it, knowing Katria was searching so frantically while it rested in his hand. 

He slammed it into his desk and buried his face in his hand. A groan escaped through his pursed lips. He’d lied because he wanted so desperately to be with Katria, but if she found out he’d lied, she would hate him, probably. 

Worse, Cullen would never forgive himself if he didn’t return the bracelet, and then the Inquisition suffered for it—his actions. He had no right to be so selfish. 

This was not the person he wanted to be. This was not the man he hoped Katria loved. 

“Fuck,” he said aloud, lifting his head to stare at the ajar door across from him. 

Cullen shakily exhaled, reaching for the bracelet without looking at it. He clenched it in his fist and left his office. 

===

Katria returned to her quarters after spending almost half an hour with torch in hand meticulously searching every inch of the basement. She had no luck finding the bracelet, and only left with a fine coat of dust on the tail of her dress. 

She couldn’t tell Josephine that the bracelet was gone—that just wasn’t going to happen. She needed some sort of contingency plan. A way to make Laurent _think_ she still had the bracelet; that wouldn’t solve her problem completely, but it would buy her more time. 

Katria rummaged through a medium-sized box of jewelry that consisted of gifts she never wore. If there was a piece that looked similar to Laurent’s, then maybe she could flash it fast enough from under her sleeve to fool him. 

Of course, she could find nothing close to what she needed. Katria gave the box a small shove and collapsed in her chair with her elbows on her desk. This was all probably what she deserved. 

Her door rattled at the bottom of the stairs and flew open—the sound it made slamming against the wall made her bolt up from her seat. 

Cullen appeared, his hair a little mussed, and panting slightly like he’d been running. She hurried over to him with a worried expression. 

“Cullen, what’s-,” 

“Here,” he blurted out, thrusting something into her outstretched hand. 

The metal of Laurent’s bracelet made a _ding_ against her fingernails, and she gasped. Her lips stretched in a smile. 

“You _found_ it! Oh, thank you, Cullen!” 

Katria lifted her arms to hug him, but he staggered back, his brows raised. 

“What?” he began. “No. I…I mean…” Cullen rubbed his neck and met her gaze, his eyes utterly forlorn. “Katria, I’ve had it all along. I lied.” 

Her brow wrinkled. “Wait, you…” She shook her head. “You _lied_? About having it?” 

He took a step forward. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I-I’m-,” 

Katria pressed her fingers to her temple. “I don’t understand. Why did you lie?” 

“Well, it just…” 

She swallowed and threw her arm to her side. “Cullen, how could you do this to me? I was so worried.” 

He clenched his hand tightly over the pommel of his sword. “I-I’m sorry. I’m very-,” 

She frowned. “I asked you _why_.”

Cullen looked into her eyes for only a few seconds before turning slightly and hanging his head. “Come on, Kat. I’m a fool and I…I love you.” He inhaled and put his palm against his temple. “I let the idea of this marriage get to me and—I just lost my head for a second. I’m sorry, though I don’t deserve to be forgiven.” 

Katria’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, just a small wincing breath because Cullen had told her he _loved her_. And he’d done something terrible because of it, but then in utterly Cullen fashion immediately did the right thing afterwards. 

“Oh,” she finally said; her voice sounded so small. 

Cullen looked hurt, his lips scrunched up on one side of his face. “I’m sorry,” he repeated with a heavy sigh. “I’ll leave you, Inquisitor. I understand if you don’t want to speak to me.” 

He turned on his heel and headed for the stairs. 

Katria clenched her fist and made a small noise of protest—she had been denying herself long enough; she was going to give in.

“Cullen,” she blurted out. “ _Cullen_.” 

He didn’t stop, so Katria dropped the bracelet from her hand and marched forward. She fisted her fingers in the fur of his coat and used enough force to make him stagger backwards. 

“Katria, I don’t-,”

She cupped the back of his head with her other hand and drew their lips together. He froze, his lips yielding for the scant moment she let the kiss last.

But that moment—she loved it. Two perfect seconds that passed before she could even process them, that still made her lips tingle. And she sighed because it felt like a breath of air after spending so long drowning. 

Katria pulled back to look into his eyes. 

“You can’t do this,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t. I am not the kind of man who-,” 

“Why don’t you let _me_ decide who I want to be with?” she asked softly, running her hand through his hair. Though she still did not know if she _could_ be with Cullen yet.

He made an exasperated noise. “You should be _angry_.” 

Katria shrugged. “Why?” she asked. “You’re angry enough at yourself for the both of us. And you came back to return it, didn’t you? No harm done.” 

“Don’t do this. I do not deserve-,” 

“Stop making this about whether or not you are _worthy_ ,” Katria cut in tersely. “I have forgiven men with one-tenth of your integrity for doing much worse things than lying then admitting to it within the hour. Honestly, I could even be annoyed at how poorly you kept up this up because you are so morally righteous.” 

She tightened her grip on his coat and sniffled—she hated that she wanted to cry about this. Cullen loved her enough that he lied—misguided, unethical, but the magnitude of his feelings was overwhelming. 

He tentatively reached up and brushed his fingers across her cheek. “Katria, I’m so sorry.” 

“I forgive you,” she said. “Are you going to stop brooding and kiss me?” 

His eyes widened slightly. “I—um. Yes.” 

She was still smiling when he pulled her against his chest and kissed her hard, no longer tentative or apologetic. She could feel his brow furrow and his fingers clench in the thick fabric at her waist. He pressed her forward, his boots disappearing under the fabric of her dress. 

A breathy groan vibrated through her chest when he pried her mouth open and tilted her head with his hand in her hair. She never, ever wanted this to end because nothing was complicated in that moment. He poured his passion into their kiss and she matched him breath for breath—that’s all there was and all she let herself think about. 

Katria danced her fingers up his breastplate, frustrated by it, because he immediately needed to have less clothes on. His fingers twisted further into her hair, sending it spilling down her back from where it had been pinned. He made a low noise in the back of his throat when she brought his lower lip between hers. 

She separated languidly from him, hovering near his mouth for a few moments before dropping back flat onto her feet. Cullen leaned closer to her and swallowed hard. 

“Maker, Kat…” he said in between shallow breaths. 

Heat pooled in her belly at his husky tone, and she slid her fingernails gently down from the nape of his neck. “You’ve ruined my braid,” she whispered with a sly smile. “Josie arranged it especially for this event.” 

Cullen pushed back the wavy strands from her face and grinned. “Lucky for you, I can fix it,” he said. 

His eyes searched her face, stopping on her reddened lips before he leaned in to kiss her again. He was gentle at first, until with one swipe of her tongue, he was giving a small moan and crushing her against him with his arm around her waist. She returned his urgency, pulling him back towards the bed, her fingers fumbling with the clasps of his coat and making it slide from his shoulders to a furry pile on the floor. He rucked up the skirt of her dress—or tried to; there was so much fabric he had two fist-fulls and was nowhere near pulling it past her knees. 

Katria staggered until the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed. Cullen’s weight against her sent them falling against the blankets. He did not brace himself, and the full breadth of his breastplate crushed her, forcing her to break their kiss and gasp as the air was wrested from her lungs. 

Cullen scrambled sideways. “What’s wrong?” 

Katria put her hand against her chest, wheezing. “Maker, you’re heavy.” 

“Oh—oh, Kat, I’m sorry,” he said, his cheeks turning a shade of scarlet. “I didn’t think about—my armor hasn’t been on when I’ve…” 

She sat up in the bed and giggled, which made him groan.

“Maker’s breath,” he said. “I’m normally a _little_ better at this.” 

“Oh, I’m aware,” Katria said with an arched brow. She wiggled onto his lap, and he gladly pulled her into his arms. The look he gave her was soft and reverent until his eyes fluttered shut and she pressed her lips to his. 

Cullen’s hand slid from her waist upwards, his fingers exploring the neckline of her gown until he tugged impatiently on it. Katria kissed him more deeply with a small whimper as she reached up and tried to unbutton her dress. 

She unclasped only two or three along the back of the collar before- 

“Inquisitor!” 

Katria squawked and almost slid off Cullen’s lap to the floor. He tightened his hold on her, his neck snapping around to Josephine, standing at the top of the stairs with her writing board covering half her surprised expression. 

“Hi…Josie,” Katria began awkwardly, her fingers still intertwined on the back of Cullen’s neck. “We, um. We were just…” 

Josephine lowered her board to her waist. “I don’t mean to intrude, but, ah, Duke Ghislain is… _here_.”

“Right,” Katria said hurriedly, meeting Cullen’s gaze before jumping off him. “Because I’m supposed to…” 

Cullen hastily stood and scooped up his coat. “I should go.” 

She stopped in front of him. “No, wait, I want…we should talk.” 

He clenched his jaw, probably dejected by the inconvenient mentioning of Laurent. “We will,” he assured her.

“Cullen-,” She stopped and looked fleetingly over at Josephine, trying not to think about how awkward this was. She faced him again and gently touched his breastplate. “I’ll stay,” she whispered quietly enough so that Josie couldn’t hear. “We can…” 

“Kat, you have to go,” Cullen insisted. “You know that.”

His fingertips grazed her cheek and he gave her a sad smile. He slid past her and Josephine, then disappeared down the stairs. 

“I…” Katria’s words devolved into a wince, and then her throat closed up. She put the heels of her palms against her eyes, determined not to cry, no matter how badly she wanted to run after Cullen and hide in his arms, but couldn’t. 

“Inquisitor,” a voice said gently. 

“Sorry, I’m-,” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. Well, my hair’s a little…” 

Josephine motioned her over to the chair by her fireplace, and Katria sat down. Her hands were shaking, so she clasped them tightly together. 

“You found the bracelet?” 

Katria just nodded, her eyes glassy. 

Josephine weaved her hair into a more simple braid. “Katria,” she said eventually. “There’s nothing to worry about. Have tea with Laurent, then leave.” 

Katria stood from the chair, inhaling a breath as she soothed down her dress. 

“I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do—Cullen and I haven’t been together before…now,” she said. “But he…” 

Josephine had retrieved the bracelet from where it lay discarded on the floor. She inspected the gemstones, then handed it to her. 

“We can discuss our options after your interlude,” she said mildly. 

“The fact that I care for Cullen shouldn’t change my duty to the Inquisition,” Katria said. “That would be selfish, right?” 

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Josie asked back. 

She hesitated because the answer was not something she wanted to hear. “No. I don’t think so.” She fiddled with the neckline of her dress one more time before steeling her nerves with a clench of her fists. 

“I should go.” 

Josie gave her an encouraging smile. “Just relax. It will be fine.” 

Katria clopped down the stairs after not smiling in return. She did not know everything, but she did know things would not be _fine_.

===

Laurent was already waiting for her when she arrived in the spacious parlor overlooking Skyhold’s garden. It was Josie’s special location for hosting visiting dignitaries—the room was bright, filled with exquisite furniture and various relics from Katria’s journeys that tied nicely into the stories she told. 

She stepped inside, trying to relax the tense muscles in her shoulders. Laurent stood immediately—she was jarred for a moment because he was not wearing a mask, and she’d never seen his face before. 

He had fairly handsome features—narrow nose, large gray eyes and a prominent brow. When he approached, their similarities in height became more apparent. His body was slender, soft; he was not broad and muscular like Cullen, which she should have expected from a noble, she supposed. 

“Inquisitor, it’s so nice to see you again,” he said, as he reached for her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “You look lovely.” 

Katria retracted her hand as quickly as possible with a polite nod. “Thank you, Duke Ghislain.” 

He motioned her to a set of chairs, and she settled down, remembering all Josie’s tips—commands—about the way a lady carries herself in conversation. 

“You can call me Laurent, if you’d like.” 

“That’s kind of you,” she said. 

He leaned back into his chair, looking comfortable, but somehow still in order. His clothes were immaculate and neatly-pressed—hadn’t he just been traveling that day? 

“I heard about your trip to the Dales,” Laurent remarked. “You must tell me about this dragon-slaying.” He smiled at her. “I hear you tell the most engaging stories.” 

“Oh, I—don’t know about that,” she said, shifting and bundling her dress between her fingers.

Without embellishment, she told him about the dragon in the Emprise du Lion. Laurent listened with rapt attention, smiling and interjecting at the appropriate moments. It was charming, though she realized he’d spent his whole life learning exactly how to act in social situations like this. 

He grinned crookedly after she finished. “You’re one brave warrior.” 

“Rogue, technically,” she said. 

“They say you’re one of the best,” he remarked. 

Katria smiled slightly. “Well, I have to have _some_ skills.” 

Laurent leaned forward. “You’re an impressive woman with many skills. You deserve impressive things.” 

He stood from his chair and smiled indulgently. “I have something for you.” 

Katria watched him cross the room to a thin, dark-stained box. She was perplexed by his demeanor. It seemed authentic—these were not the guarded and deceptive mannerisms of the Orlesians she’d come to know that were bereft of meaning. He cared enough to show her his real person; a disquieting revelation that made her want to bite her lip and hide. 

Laurent presented the box to her, actually looking _excited_ , and she resisted the urge to snort. Nobles even _wrapped_ their gifts in ridiculous finery. 

“This really isn’t necessary,” she said, as her fingers ran over the gold inlay of the box. 

“Don’t say that until you see it,” he replied, sitting in the chair closest to her. 

She slid the lid off the box. Inside were two exquisite daggers—silverite, with carved dragon bone hilts. The blades were thin, incredibly well-forged; staggeringly expensive pieces. 

“I thought it would…commemorate your dragon-slaying,” he remarked. 

Katria swallowed and hesitantly lifted one— _don’t look too impressed_ , she told herself, even though she was fucking giddy. She wanted to squeal and run outside and show them to Bull and then duel. Underneath the daggers was a book. She dug it out to read the spine.

“Oh,” she said. “Massache’s _Meditation Upon the Use of Blades_.”

“I’m sure you’ve read it,” he said quickly. “But it’s a first edition.” 

“Maker’s…” Katria trailed off, cognizant of that fact that saying _Maker’s balls_ would not be very lady-like. 

“Duke Ghislain-,”

“Laurent.” 

She cleared her throat. “Right. Laurent. Ah, thank you. This is…very kind.” Ridiculously kind. Astoundingly. Never had she received such a nice gift. 

Laurent crossed his legs and grinned. “You’re welcome. I’ll be honest with you. My sister Marceline suggested I buy you _The Dowager’s Field Guide to Good Society_.”

Katria laughed. “By Lady Alcyone?” She shook her head. “I was forced to read that book as a child. Would you believe I didn’t absorb a single tip from it?” 

“I _do_ find that hard to believe,” he replied, smiling slightly. “You are the epitome of good society.” 

“You’re _too_ kind, Duke—Laurent. Or you must have a very different definition of good society than the one of your peers.”

He leaned forward to pour himself a cup of tea. “You should not listen to what Orlesians say about you,” he said. “They’re fools. Jealous of your skills. Your adventures. I’ve…never met anyone quite like you. You’re genuine. Warm.” 

Katria accepted the cup he offered her. “Warm? Well, that might have something to do with the floor length wool dress I’m wearing.” 

Laurent chuckled. “See, you’re funny. Other noble women aren’t.” 

She took a sip of her tea, unsatisfied with the sweetness level though trying not to make a face. “Humor does not make a lady, I’ve been told.” 

He tapped the box in her lap. “You must show me how you use these.” 

Katria raised her brow. “Now?” 

“Sure,” he said. “Would you? If you’d like.” 

She hesitated—Josie technically told her it would be rude to not indulge him. Also, the daggers he’d given her were stunning. She caved. “Alright, a _brief_ demonstration.” 

Katria stood and soothed down her dress. She lifted the daggers from their place with a satisfied exhale. 

“Where did you get these?” she asked, holding one in each hand, inspecting the sharp, paper-thin edge. 

“I had them made in Val Royeaux,” he replied. “The best blacksmith in Thedas. Though I heard your blacksmith here has some skill.”

“Harritt does excellent work,” Katria said, eyes on her daggers as she spun one around her hand. “We also have an arcane enchanter that can improve our weapons further.” 

“Why don’t you show me some basics of Orlesian dueling,” Laurent suggested, leaning back to get a better view of her gently clicking the daggers together. 

She was nervous about moving in her current outfit—Josie would probably melt if her dress split open. The daggers glinted in the light from the open window as she moved them in a fake thrust and parry. 

“I would think _you_ would know about Orlesian dueling,” she remarked. 

Laurent shook his head her while his eyes followed her. “My father wanted that,” he said. “I preferred sitting in my room reading books and not stabbing anything.” 

She threw her dagger and watched it arc high in the air before she caught it again. “You and I don’t have that in common.” 

“We…might have other things in common.” 

Laurent was looking at her, but she quickly turned to the stained box and put the daggers back in their place. She clenched her fingers before settling in her chair. 

“Thank you for the demonstration,” he said when she did not reply. “They were right; you are remarkable.” 

She shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of practice.” 

Laurent shifted so his knees were pointed towards her. “Listen, Katria-,” He stopped himself. “Forgive me. Is it alright if I call you that?” 

Katria flinched because of _course_ he had to be polite enough to ask her that first. She pushed her fingers along the arm of the chair. “It’s alright.” 

“Excellent,” he said with a smile. “What I was going to say was-,” He stood again, and Katria had a sinking feeling in her stomach because she didn’t want any more gifts. 

“My family told me not yet, that I should wait,” he said. “But I like you, Katria. You’re interesting and funny and-,” 

“One of the most powerful women in Thedas.” 

Laurent turned back around holding a folded piece of parchment. “And you’re straight-forward. Which among Orlesian nobility is a non-existent trait. It gets tiring dancing so much around the truth.” 

He walked over to her, and she stood up straighter; the tightness in her lungs made her swallow hard. Her mind was racing, mostly a useless stream of _no, no, no_. 

“This is a contract my family has drawn up outlining the terms of our marriage—your dowry, my estates, other terms we’ve discussed.” 

Katria’s eyes flicked up. “Other terms?” 

He sat down again and placed the contract between them; she looked away. 

“You’re aware of my status within the Orlesian court,” he began. “And I’m aware of your political needs in relation to your reforms of the Circle.” 

She arched an eyebrow. “My political needs?” 

“I can be more straight-forward,” Laurent replied, grinning. “I can have Madame de Fer removed from her post as Court Enchanter of Orlais, as well as from the Ghislain Estate in Val Royeaux.” 

Katria folded her arms over her chest. Removing her physical base of power and her job? Exactly what she needed.

“You would do that to your father’s lover? A woman who has lived with you almost your whole life?” 

“Is that what you think?” he asked. “That because Vivienne slept with my father she somehow has a connection to me?” 

She furrowed her brow. “I thought Vivienne and your mother got along well.” 

“Well enough,” he replied. “Mostly because that kind of arrangement is very common. Most noble men have mistresses—my mother had no choice but to tolerate it.” Laurent shifted. “Vivienne loved my father, and she loved her career. I wasn’t her child—there was never any room for me.” He glanced down at his smooth, neatly folded hands. “There wasn’t much room in my _father’s_ life for me, either.” 

Katria narrowed her eyes; his honesty was endearing and sympathetic and it was _annoying_. Orlesians were supposed to be selfish and haughty—flimsy, gilded imitations of people. And Laurent was not; genuine and nice were not particularly impressive traits for him to have, but the fact that he was likeable did not help her situation. It worsened it. What kind of sacrifice was this if he treated her respectfully? 

Laurent tapped the contract. “My point is that if we…come to an agreement-,” 

“Get married.” 

“Yes,” he said. “If we get married, I can make the things you want happen. And more.” Laurent pushed it towards her. “Unorthodox, I know. But what do you say?” 

“Say to…” She swallowed. “Are you sure _right now_ is the time?” 

He nodded. “I am. This is a practical arrangement: the Inquisitor and the head of the Council of Heralds. In addition, I think you’re a lovely woman.” 

Katria trapped a wince in her throat, and some other expletives. She _loved Cullen_. She’d known that for a while, but now he’d said it to her—of course, that didn’t change anything with Laurent. It just didn’t seem fair that this marriage was crashing down on her because of her age and politics while there was another man she wanted more in her life. 

“I will…have to confer with my Ambassador about this,” Katria eventually said. 

“Of course,” Laurent replied, sliding it off the table and handing it to her. “I understand noble ways of marriage are a little odd. Contracts, dowries, negotiations.”

She ran her fingers across her temple, wishing he would stop being so fucking _reasonable_ so she’d have a reason to—to be utterly herself and hit him in the face for being sleazy. 

Katria reached out to take the parchment, and, realizing her hands were shaking, quickly clenched her other fist. She accepted it without looking at him. 

“I will—should discuss this with Lady Montilyet now. Or soon.” 

“Absolutely,” Laurent said as he stood. She followed suit, and he took her hand. 

“I look forward to hearing from you.” 

“I—yes,” she replied—every fiber of her being, every muscle, was focused on composure, despite the fact that she felt at any moment that her voice might break and she’d smash something to bits. “You will. Hear from me.” 

He lifted her hand higher and kissed it. “I’ve enjoyed this visit very much, Katria.” 

“As have I, Duke—Laurent, I mean.” 

Laurent bowed briefly and then left. Katria stayed standing as the door closed, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She would not throw a tantrum. She was not a child, despite the fact that she wanted to use Laurent’s fancy daggers to tear a hole in the fancy velvet drapes, and her dress, and anything else that came near her. She wanted to throw this contract—literally a _contract_ for marriage because nobles were so fucking absorbed in their heirs and bloodlines and money marriage wasn’t about love anymore—in the fire. 

Air whooshed from her lungs in a shuddering sigh. The worst part about the fact that she told Laurent she enjoyed their visit? She wasn’t lying. And she was out of time.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple things: 
> 
> 1\. This chapter is NSFW. 
> 
> 2\. It's super _long_. Like just wow what was I thinking. Everyone's been so nice I just wanted to keep it all together and return the love! :)

Katria slammed the door to her quarters so hard it rattled until she reached the top of the stairs. She’d left the salon, sweating rage, not caring that she was letting herself get angrier and angrier with each step. 

Laurent’s contract crinkled in her fist—she was determined to hide it away somewhere and ignore it, but Josephine and Leliana were standing beside her desk. 

Josie stood at attention and smiled at her when she appeared. “Inquisitor-,” 

“He asked me,” Katria snapped angrily. “To marry him. You told me he _wouldn’t_.” 

Josephine, ever the consummate diplomat, only looked stunned for a single moment before she strode forward. “I did not realize that he had such a fondness for you-,”

Leliana crossed her arms over her chest. “Or maybe he just wants to tap into the Inquisition’s power even faster.” 

“I don’t care if he likes me. I don’t care about his reasoning.” Katria brandished the letter in her hand. “The point is, it fucking happened. I have to answer him. Soon.” 

Josephine nodded. “You do.” 

Katria raised her fingers to her forehead and let out a breath. “You two should know there are some, ah, mitigating personal factors around this situation.” 

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “Regarding you and Cullen?”

“Yes, _Spymaster_ ,” Katria replied acridly. “I’m aware you know everything. I’m aware Josephine probably already told you that-,” 

“He had his tongue down your throat right before another man asked you to marry him?”

She threw a glare in Leliana’s direction—her friend could be so _hard_ sometimes. “Where is Cullen? Why isn’t he here?” 

Josephine folded her fingers together. “We weren’t sure it was wise-,” 

“Cullen can’t be trusted to give you an impartial judgment because of how he feels about you,” Leliana said bluntly. 

“He’s my advisor,” she snapped. “Just as much as you are.” 

“You love him, and you’re going to reject Duke Ghislain because of that.”

Katria clenched her fists. “I can turn Laurent down for any fucking reason I want.” She put her hand over her chest, heart drumming under her skin. “I’m a person. I’m not a figurehead. I’m not just the Inquisitor. How I feel should _matter_ and Cullen would never…” 

Josephine stepped forward. “Inquisitor, try to-,” 

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she exclaimed. “This is my _life_ we’re talking about.” 

Katria held the bridge of her nose, taking a long slow breath that pinched the seams of her dress. She closed her eyes—annoyed because Josie was right and she did need to calm down. 

“Forgive me,” Katria began softly. “I’m—confused.” And frightened, incredibly stressed, on the verge of tears, but she wouldn’t admit that. She began to pace back and forth between her set of chairs and the bed. 

“But I want you to know that Cullen should be here,” she said. “He’s my advisor, and he would never let his feelings interfere with his recommendations as the Commander of the Inquisition.” She sighed. “I know it’s weird that I…love him, and to have him here and talk about this marriage would be so hard because saying yes to Laurent would break his heart. My heart.” 

Leliana shifted. “I apologize, Inquisitor. I thought given what happened between you two a few years ago, keeping professional and personal separate would be best.”

Katria stopped, keeping her eyes on the stone flag under her feet. She knew the fights she and Cullen had gotten into before had ripples. Their romantic entanglement affected the balance of their relationship as advisors and the Inquisitor. Their separation did the same. She supposed she had never _really_ considered how hard it might be for Leliana and Josephine to stand on one side of a table with a man whose status with their boss fluctuated drastically in a matter of months. 

“It’s different this time,” she said. “Cullen—we, it’s….different.”

“I understand,” Leliana replied. “I think his advice could be valuable to you then.” 

Katria shook her head. “I don’t need advice. I need solutions.” She waved one hand. “So, come on, give me options. Tell me Vivienne’s secretly plotting to assassinate Empress Celene or that she’s been crushed by a giant boulder.” 

Leliana strode over to her. “Katria, it’s time for you to be honest with yourself,” she said with an even stare. “You know our options. If you don’t marry Laurent, then we have to attack Vivienne bit by bit. Piecemeal. Disrupting parties, planting spies, siphoning money. Vivienne knows how to play the Game, and there isn’t going to be anything she’s done that will condemn her like this marriage will.” 

“Will that alternative _work_?” Katria asked. 

Leliana pursed her lips. “I know you want me to promise you that it will. But I can’t do that. I can’t foresee the future.”

“I understand, but maybe there’s-,” 

“Katria,” she said gently. “This is the reality. There is no perfect, equalizing alternative that would provide the same benefits to the Inquisition as would your alliance with Laurent.” Leliana spread out her hands. “I’m not telling you this because I think you should marry him. It’s your decision. But you can’t ignore how high the stakes are.” 

Katria met her gaze. “You think I should do it?” 

“Inquisitor, my opinion is-,”

“Just tell me,” she said. “Josie did.” 

Leliana put her hands behind her back—the gesture of _bad news_. “I’ve done extensive research on Laurent because your well-being is important to me. He is a good man. Weighing the benefits versus the potential pitfalls of the arrangement—I think you should.” She paused, but kept her head up. “I love you, and I love Cullen, and I’m sorry the timing of this has been so poor. I wish it were different.” 

“Me too,” Katria muttered. 

“I know that is not what you wanted to hear,” Leliana said. 

“No, I wanted it,” she replied. “I prefer the truth to being coddled.” 

Josephine smiled politely. “No matter what you choose, we will support you. It’s…just like any sort of advice we’ve given you before.” 

Katria snorted. “Except this isn’t advice about what we should do about Bann Dorner spreading rumors about the Inquisition. This is advice about what to do about the rest of my life. And not just as the Inquisitor, as a person. A…” _Mother_. She buried her face in her hands, letting out a small whimper. 

She _felt_ their sympathy prickle the air around her—their sad, indulgent smiles. Poor Katria. Such inexperience with the world of nobility. Floundering because she was in _love_.

She huffed and turned away. “Thank you both for your input. I’ll find Cullen.” Maybe alcohol first, but they didn’t need to know that. She crossed the room to her stairs, and Josie called to her before she left, trying to be comforting. 

“You have time, Inquisitor! Perhaps we’ll find something!” 

Katria frowned before she opened the door because she knew she was being coddled. 

=== 

Katria was so upset she did not even bother to change out of her dress—instead she marched down the steps outside the Great Hall and right through the minefield of puddles and mud in the courtyard, sloshing through them without a care, dirtying the hem of her dress. 

She burst into the mostly empty tavern and saddled up to the bar. Cabot turned his attention to her immediately; she was one of his best customers after all. 

“Bottle. Of something.” 

Cabot raised a thick eyebrow, then turned to his rack of spirits and wines. While he was taking entirely too long to make a selection, someone plopped down on the chairs on either side of her. 

She looked to Varric, then Sera, and tried to trap a groan in her throat. 

“I’m…not in the mood for social drinking right now,” she remarked. 

“Something’s wrong,” Varric said. 

Katria grabbed the neck of the bottle placed in front of her. “Why would you say that?” 

“You’re wearing a dress,” Sera pointed out. “You’ve clearly lost your mind.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. Katria made it only a few steps before she hesitated, clenching her fingers around her bottle, knuckles bloodless. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. 

“Bianca didn’t pick you,” she said to Varric, as she turned. 

His mouth quirked up in a smirk, and he gestured her to a stool. Katria sat down with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry if that was inappropriate.”

“No,” Varric said, accepting a drink from Cabot. “It’s okay. But I wouldn’t quite say it like _that_.” 

“You wouldn’t?”

Varric shook his head. “It was complicated.” He sipped his drink. “Bianca didn’t even show up for the first wedding ceremony her parents arranged for her.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “But she’s married now, right? What made her change her mind?” 

He shrugged. “Bianca’s family is very conservative. They found a wealthy, respectable match for her—guy with a great anvil collection who’d be the perfect husband.” He drummed his fingers against the bar. “She didn’t _pick_ him over me. Her life had to change, and our relationship looked a little different than one might expect. Her family supports her work, and her work matters to her. Her legacy. So she married him.”

Katria’s stomach churned—her legacy was supposed to matter, too. “Has it…worked? Between you two?” 

“There’s a continent between us most times, but I…it works.” Varric nudged her with his elbow. “This is about that duke, isn’t it? Saw him arrive today.” 

“It’s not important,” Katria muttered. 

“You wouldn’t be sitting here asking me my feelings about being _the other man_ if it weren’t important,” Varric said. “Is he here to ask you to marry him?” 

Katria swallowed. “He did. Today.” 

“And has Cullen told you he loves you?” he asked. 

“Also today.” 

Varric snorted. “You really know how to complicate things, don’t you?” 

She splayed her palm across the bar. “It’s not my fault. I wasn’t trying to—maybe if Cullen weren’t so Maker-forsaken _attractive_ …” 

Varric leaned back on his stool in a stretch. “What are you gonna do, Cat?” 

“I…don’t know,” she admitted. She pried the cork off the bottle Cabot had given her. “I have no fucking clue, Varric.” 

Sera, who had been absorbed in flicking broken peanut shells at the other tavern patrons, finally teetered around on her stool. 

“Fuck nobles,” she said, then wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Her breath was sour from the alcohol she’d been drinking. “No, no, wait. _Sod_ nobles, and _fuck_ Cullen.” 

Katria smiled slightly and laughed. “Thank you, Sera. Excellent advice.” 

Varric emptied his drink. “I don’t know. Buttercup might have a point.” 

“Wait—what?” Katria began, snapping her neck around to him. “But Bianca and…” 

“Yes, Bianca made her choice,” he said. “But come on, you’re the Inquisitor.” 

Her brow wrinkled. “So?” 

“So?” Varric began incredulously. “ _So_?” He threw his hand up. “Of course you’d say that. Greatest hero of our time so tentative with that power.” He leaned forward. “Cat, I made a small fortune writing books about you—the Inquisitor, a woman who can bring Thedas to its knees.” 

“What does this have to do with me marrying Laurent?” she asked. 

“You don’t understand that you can do _whatever you want_ -,” 

Katria made an exasperated noise. “That’s not true.” 

“It is,” he insisted. “You have a lot of influence in Ferelden and Orlais. You’re the Inquisitor. You could reject Laurent and throw him in a ditch if you wanted and still recover from it.” 

She scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. I-,” 

“You could,” Varric said. “You’ve never understood that. Which has been great. The world has enough problems. It didn’t need another tyrannical monster, and you didn’t become one when you were named Inquisitor. But, if this marriage business matters enough to you, acknowledge your power now.” He waved his hand. “Listen, I know how high the stakes are for you, and that must be scary. But you also have a tremendous amount of leverage. Don’t be afraid to use it.” 

“I don’t have leverage in the right places, Varric,” she replied, thoughts drifting to Cassandra and her lack of correspondence, though even she help might not solve Katria’s problems.

“Maybe you do, and you just aren’t pushing hard enough.” 

She ran her fingernail against the wood grain of the bar; the noise around her in the tavern was beginning to overwhelm her. “Thank you for the encouragement,” she said. “I should go.” She tucked her mostly untouched bottle under her arm and rose from her stool to leave. 

Just before she turned, the bottle was popped from her grasp by an insistent hand. Katria found Dorian standing behind her, inspecting the label. Bull was beside him, smirking, though not looking entertained by Dorian’s antics.

“A fine vintage,” he said. “What’s the occasion?” 

“Nothing.” 

Dorian looked at Varric, who grinned. “Duke Ghislain proposed to her.” 

“ _Varric_ ,” she said exasperatedly; they both ignored her.

Dorian wiggled the cork out of the bottle. “I’m assuming Commander Cullen has complicated matters.” 

Varric nodded. “They kissed today.” 

Katria threw her hands down and glared at the dwarf. “I never said that!” 

“You told me Curly professed his love for you,” Varric pointed out. “I assume that involved touching. Unless he wrote it out to you in some Inquisition report, which would not be all that surprising.” 

Dorian folded his arms over his chest, finally acknowledging her. “What are you going to say to Laurent?” 

She was tired of being asked that. “I don’t know, Dorian.” 

“Well, I think-,” 

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” 

“You don’t have to,” Dorian replied with a smile. “Tell me why you can’t marry Laurent and let Cullen be your special friend on the side?” 

Katria blanched. “I’m sorry, somehow that’s _worse_ than lover. And…” She dug her fingers into the wool sleeve of her dress. Of course Dorian’s suggestion has crossed her mind before. It was how most nobles dealt with the realities of marriage arrangement. Laurent’s father had done it himself; she knew Laurent wouldn’t care if she saw another man. The thought carried some comfort—that she could still love Cullen and be with him even though it might not be exactly the way she wanted.

“I should go,” she eventually said. 

“Running away?” Dorian began. “I hear Val Chevin is lovely this time of year.” 

Katria snatched her bottle from him. “I’m going to my room. I need to talk to…”

Bull’s voice rumbled from behind Dorian. “You don’t need to talk to anyone.” 

“Why?” she asked. 

“You need to quit playing games, Boss,” Bull said. “You could spend the entire day running around Skyhold asking every single person what you think you should do, but your opinion is the one that matters.” He shook his head. “You’re waiting around for someone to give you permission to reject Laurent. To give you a magical solution so that this problem becomes some breezy choice that allows you to get everything you want.” 

“That’s not true,” she protested. 

“You know the stakes, you know the consequences. Stop stalling.” 

Katria frowned. “I’m not stalling.” 

“You’ve already made your choice,” Bull said, staring down at her, and she felt so transparent and small. “I can see it in your face that you know what you have to do. But you’re scrambling around anyway—you just don’t want to commit. Because it hurts.” 

She tore her gaze away from him, eyes sliding past Dorian, who looked sympathetic and it boiled her blood because she didn’t want people to feel sorry for her. She didn’t want Bull to be right. 

“Excuse me,” she ground out, trying to maneuver past his hulking frame.

“I’m not sorry for the tough love, Boss,” Bull remarked as she passed. “You can be pragmatic or you can fight. But you can’t wait.” 

She shoved open the door to the tavern, sniffling and still determined not to cry. Bull was right. Of course he was. She’d been brave enough to make hard choices for years—choices that had saved Bull’s Chargers, redeemed the Wardens, given Dorian another chance with his family, but this problem with Laurent? It was asking to her make a hard and fast decision about herself; the selfish need she had to love Cullen because he made her happy, even though Laurent would be a good and respectful husband to her. It would be so much easier if Laurent were hardened and slimy—she’d reject him for her own well-being. 

Katria was fooling herself. She was wishing things were just a little different, that someone else would make this decision. Or that she didn’t have to make this decision at all. 

===

Cullen did not want to leave his office. His office was safe. He’d spent years letting himself pace the stone floor, dimming the bright lights in the room to alleviate his headaches. When the walls felt like they were closing in on him, he’d stare out the slender window into the icy valley below him. This place was familiar and comforting—outside his office was not. 

Today, when he stepped out onto the battlements, he saw the courtyard overflowing with evidence of nobility. Laurent, specifically. His caravan, his attendants, scuttling around like ants unloading his things—he didn’t understand how a man could have so much stuff when his stay was only a few days. 

Cullen spotted Laurent himself there, too. The last time he’d seen him was at the banquet Josephine had thrown. Cullen had been so oblivious then, pining over Katria with some absurd innocence, while she spun around the dance floor with a man who wanted to marry her. Who probably would marry her. 

Laurent was _scrawny_. He could see that from far away; compared to his family’s guards he looked slight. Short. A noble who spent his days inside reading, drinking tea, drafting documents. He was unfit to protect Katria, and Cullen hated it.

He retreated to his office after that. The reality of Katria’s situation was no longer some distant idea they could avoid discussing like they had in past months. It existed now right in front of his face, and no matter how badly he wanted to look away, he could not. 

Cullen resisted the urge to run to Katria’s quarters after he knew her interlude with Laurent had ended. He wasn’t so sure that was a good idea—he wasn’t sure kissing her and telling her he loved her was a good idea either. But it had happened and made him indescribably happy. 

He of course knew in the back of his mind that this marriage was her decision, not his. He wouldn’t feel right if she gave up all her progress for him. He was not worthy of that, no matter how deeply he felt. And the worst part of all this was that Cullen was supposed to be her advisor. He was supposed to give her advice and guidance—but as of late, his guidance was clouded by the fact that he loved her. 

Cullen paced his office floor, trying to be pragmatic. To separate himself. If Katria were in love with another man, and expected to marry Laurent, what would he say as Commander of the Inquisition? First, he would probably scoff, and not give a rat’s ass about noble negotiations. Then what? 

His stomach clenched, and he forced himself to stop. The truth was, he’d tell Katria to marry Laurent. Because part of him still cared about his job, their jobs, and what was best for the Inquisition. It mattered to him that he was noble and unselfish because he’d spent so long in the Templar Order being the _exact_ opposite of that. 

Cullen was interrupted by one of his lieutenants, and though the issue brought to his attention was minor, he rushed to the barracks to resolve it. Turns out, _that_ problem was easier to solve than whether or not he should advise a woman he loved to marry another man. 

It was dark when he returned to his office. Just as he opened one of his doors, he allowed his gaze to rise to the Inquisitor’s tower. Her windows were flung open, like always, because she liked the outside as much as he did. Candlelight spilled out onto the balcony—it was weak, but there. She was awake. 

Cullen loosened his grip on the door and let it click shut. He shed his armor upstairs, ignoring the small voice in his head that asked him why he was wearing less clothes and rolling up his sleeves to visit the Inquisitor. 

Cullen hopped down his ladder, then crossed the stone bridge to the Great Hall. Before he even gave himself time to think about what he was going to say, he was nodding to Katria’s guards and at the door leading to her quarters. He knocked, probably too faintly for her to hear, then slowly made his way up the stairs. 

Katria was at her desk, moonlight cast across her slumped frame. She was still wearing her dress, though it was crumpled and her hair had fallen from its plait. Her downcast expression was hardly visible in the waning candlelight. 

He stayed with his hand on the half-wall beside her stairwell. His hair collapsed from its careful construction as he ran his fingers through it. 

“Kat?” 

She straightened, dropping her hand from her face. “Cullen?” 

“I thought we could talk,” he said, then looked down at the door. “I can leave if-,” 

Katria stood. “No, I—we probably should.” 

Cullen tentatively stepped further into the room. “How was…your interlude?” 

“It, um-,” She stopped and swallowed hard. “Not good.” 

His gut clenched. “What happened?” 

Katria weakly lifted something from the desk before letting it fall back. Her voice was shaky. “H-He asked me. To marry him. Gave me the contract. I don’t…” 

Cullen knees buckled a little, and he leaned against the back of the chair beside him. He was silent for a few beats—unable, or refusing, to process what she’d just said. “Maker’s breath…” 

She walked over to him and stood just inches from his knees. “I know,” she said weakly. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this soon.” 

“So what?” he began, lifting his head. “When do you have to give him an answer?” 

“I have—some time,” she said. 

That was not a comforting reply. He exhaled and rubbed his face with both hands. For all the hours he paced his office floor, he still didn’t expect everything to fall apart so soon. 

Katria took a step forward so she was standing between his legs. The fabric of her dress gently brushed his thighs. 

“Cullen-,” 

He slid his palm from her side to her stomach and she stopped. “You’re still wearing your dress,” he murmured. His hand dropped to his knee. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, you know.” 

Katria’s brow rose, a small smile tugging at her lip.

“Thank you.” 

She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned into him. Before she could kiss him, his hand was against the side of her neck, stopping her, though it was difficult to resist her. 

“Kat, what are you going to say to Duke Ghislain?” 

She stopped only inches from him and bit her lip. “I don’t know yet,” she replied. “I’ve been asking around and…” 

“For advice?” 

She nodded, and he removed her arms from around him and held her wrists in his hands between them. “Are you going to ask the remaining member of your War Council what you should do?” 

Katria cocked her head. “Alright,” she said softly. “Do you think I should marry Laurent?”

Cullen tightened his hold on her, his eyes trailing down as he took a deep breath. He needed to be the commander, her advisor. 

“Yes.” 

She stiffened, the muscles in her arms tense under his hands. “Excuse me?” 

His voice was hoarse. “I think you should.” 

Katria broke from his grasp and furrowed her brow. “Why would you say that? You told me a few hours ago you loved me.” 

“And I do,” he insisted. “Kat, I do. More than you know. But…” He rubbed his neck and trailed off. 

“But what?” she demanded. 

“As the Commander of the Inquisition, I advise you marry him,” he said. “I think nobles are stupid, I think their games are trite, and I understand the personal toll it would take on you.” He ran his hands down his thighs. “But what else do I tell you? Don’t marry Laurent and jeopardize all that you’ve accomplished? Because let’s face it, there are no better solutions than this marriage, and I— _hate that_ , but I am cautious man, and if you were having a dalliance with any other-,”

“ _Dalliance_?” She clenched her fists. “That’s your name for it?” 

“No, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t—I just meant you...you can’t give this up for _me_. I’m not—mages deserve, and you…” 

“Dalliance,” she snapped. “Maker, I can’t believe you’re saying this.” 

“What else did you expect?” he asked. 

Katria threw her arms up. “I expected you to—to tell me that you don’t want me to marry Laurent. That we belong together, so I shouldn’t sign the contract. That’s what I want you to tell me.” 

Cullen shook his head. “You’d resent me for the rest of your life if Vivienne succeeded because you didn’t marry Laurent.” 

“There are other ways to beat her,” Katria insisted. 

“Which is a risk that you are welcome to take,” he replied. “By your own choice. Not because I asked you to.” He took her hand again, and she didn’t pull away. “Maybe I shouldn’t give you advice either way. The fact is, it’s your sacrifice to make, and not anyone else’s. You deserve to know how I feel, but I won’t make this decision for you. Marry Laurent, and I’ll support you. Don’t marry him, and I support you.”

She frowned. “That’s not _helpful_.” 

He squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry.” He bowed his head and pulled her closer. “Maker, Kat, you must know how badly I want to fix this. I want to find some brilliant solution that obliterates Vivienne just as well as this marriage would. I’ve wracked my brain, and come up with _nothing_. I-I…I’ve failed you.”

“You?” she began, then snorted and shook her head. “I’m the one who agreed to this marriage in the first place because I wanted what was best for the Inquisition and I didn’t think I’d ever be in love again, so it didn’t matter if I was stuck with Laurent. I’m the one who fucked things up between us all those years ago, and if we had worked it out then, I wouldn’t be in this situation now.” 

He watched as her eyes began to glisten and she plaintively covered her face with her hand. Her breath spilled between her fingers and was warm against his face. Cullen knew what signaled that Katria was about to cry—the way her muscles tensed and she screwed her eyes tightly shut, mouth set in a hard line because those kinds of feelings always put her in a bad mood. 

“Katria.” 

She snatched her arm back and retreated to her desk. Cullen stood, but didn’t follow her. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. 

“It’s not you that’s upsetting me,” she muttered. “I’m just…a little scared.” She pointed a finger at him. “A little.” 

“Right,” he said. “Because the Inquisitor would never be a _lot_ scared. Not even when fighting a darkspawn magister.” 

She grabbed the letter folded on her desk and stuffed it into the drawer beside her. “Honestly, it’s terrifying, Cullen. If I reject Laurent and then everything goes to the Void, it’s all my fault. Especially because I’m taking the risk for—for myself. For selfish reasons that have to do with my emotions and my happiness when I’m supposed to be serving Thedas.” 

“I know it’s not easy,” he whispered, as he watched her slam the drawer shut. “But it’s not going to go away just because you hide that letter.” 

“You think the fireplace would have been a better option?” she asked. 

“You can’t sign the contract if you reduce it to ashes,” he pointed out, slowly making his ways towards her. 

She crossed her arms and shrugged; her face was turned sideways, though he could see that her eyes were glassy. “That’s the point.”

“Kat…”

He perched himself on the desk, and she stepped closer to him. His fingers trailed down the fabric of her dress on her arms, to her wrists, her long fingers nicked with white scars and callouses. 

She leaned closer to him. “I’m sorry I asked you to tell me what I wanted to hear,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “No one else has.”

“I…wish I could do that,” he said. “But it’s not fair to you. In the long run.” 

Katria sniffled, her fingers clenching his tunic so tightly she was trembling. “I’m so tired of having all the weight of Thedas on my shoulders.” 

He wrapped one arm around her waist, and she winced. “Maker, I can’t say that.” 

“No, you can,” he said gently. “You’re right. The responsibility you have—the responsibility people _put_ on you, it must be overwhelming.”

She nodded, and her hands tentatively rose to his shoulders. “Better now since you’ve returned. Really. It’s been—you are…” Her body was almost flush against his, and she bit her lip. “Don’t, um, get any ideas from this, but I probably—I mean, I’m no expert, obviously, except that I’m fairly certain that I…you know, love you.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, and he probably smiled like a fool. 

“Maker, you’re bad at that,” he murmured. 

“Arse,” she said reflexively, her laugh coming out a short sob. 

The next thing he knew her hands were tight around his face and her warm mouth found his—firmly, a kiss with a certainty that made his eyes widen. She pulled away too quickly for him to respond. The sound of their lips pulling apart lingered in the silence as she looked at him. 

“Why did you…” Cullen cleared his throat. “Katria, the bracelet. I lied about it, and that should change things.” 

“It doesn’t have to,” she said. She kept one of her hands against his cheek. “You’re sorry, and if you promise to never do it again, I can forgive you.” Her thumb trailed gently down the scar on his lip. “I know you’re a good man, even if you don’t.” 

Cullen tightened his hands around her hips, hoping the intensity of his gaze could communicate how deeply he felt. “I will never lie to you.” 

“I know, and you don’t have to, Cullen. There isn’t anything you can’t tell me. We have to communicate, that’s how we make this work.” She stopped and shrugged. “And if you lie again…well, then something might have to change. But I know you won’t. I trust you.” 

Cullen looked down, fingers tracing the wrinkles in her dress that had formed through the long day. His gut reaction was that he did not deserve to be treated so fairly. It wasn’t supposed to work like this; he wasn’t supposed to love her so much when the right thing to do was to let her go. 

“I should let you sleep,” he eventually said, turning his head away. “I’ve given you my…official recommendation.” 

She shifted. “You don’t have to leave.” 

“What do you…” Cullen’s words caught in his throat when she stepped closer to him. Her hand moved down, across his neck where his pulse was thrumming rapidly, and to the opening of his tunic. 

“Stay,” she whispered, dragging her fingernails gently down the exposed skin on his chest. “We won’t be interrupted this time.” 

Cullen’s mouth opened, and embarrassingly, a small, wheezing breath escaped instead of anything coherent. He sharply shook his head—his hands drew back from her because they wouldn’t behave themselves if they stayed rested against her. 

“Kat, I came here to suggest that you marry another man,” he said exasperatedly. “For the Inquisition. We shouldn’t, or—or um, we _can’t_.” 

“Why?” she asked. “I don’t see a Chantry mother around; I’m not suggesting we get married. It doesn’t matter tonight, for us, that I’m potentially entering into some diplomatic union.” 

His chest was heaving, only a little, the more he let himself think about what could happen. He clenched one fist against his thigh to keep it from reaching for her. She was watching him, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She was clearly not thinking straight. Logically. Neither was he. 

Varric had called Katria a moving target once. She flashed a smile when something hurt the most, recoiled at the sympathetic hands that reached for her in favor of being the stoic hero. Her authentic feelings were always camouflaged by the wit and humor and glibness she thrust out into the world. Katria was ice; if you held her too tightly or got too close, the heat would melt her, and she’d trickle away.

Cullen hadn’t figured her out. He probably never would. But he knew right now that she’d opened herself up to him. She was vulnerable and exposed and there was a raw honesty between them. A level of communication that hadn’t existed when they’d been together before. He kissed her more deeply because of it—because of the unflinching anguish of their situation. The woman who understood him the best out of anyone, a woman whose life he was utterly devoted to protecting and improving, was the one person he could not have. 

Except for tonight, he supposed. They had one another now, and he swore he would remember this.

Katria bit her lip in the prolonged silence. “Listen, I didn’t mean to-,” 

Cullen felt his fist unclench and shoot out. His arm curled around her waist and pulled her against him. His other hand brought her face down to his. Their lips met in a fierce, messy kiss—one he wouldn’t stop for a long time, one that helped him forget all about the complicated nonsense that had made him pace his office for hours earlier. His desire for her had been so tightly contained before this—he wondered if he should be ashamed by his sudden desperation because he got one small taste and couldn’t stop himself from sliding his tongue into her mouth and pulling at the seams of her very expensive dress. 

Katria tilted her head and pressed into him; her fingers were in his hair and the others tugged at his tunic. Cullen was not disappointed in his spontaneity as she stood between his legs while he leaned on the desk. 

She inhaled a shaky breath, and he kissed the tip of her mouth, the line of her jaw. His hand clenched into her braid, turning her head to give him access to the slender column of her neck. Katria shuddered against him and whimpered. She arched her body, but her dress was too thick, and he had an intense desire to be closer to her—physically. Nothing between them. 

Cullen pulled harder on the dress. The blighted thing even had _sleeves_ and that just seemed unfair because he liked the warmth of her skin very much. 

Katria's palm pressed against his chest, and he pulled away from her, trailing his finger down the reddish flush he’d left on her pale skin. He lifted his head, watching her shoulders rise as she tried to catch her breath. 

His hand dipped lower from her neck to the line of her gown between her breasts. Her breath hitched, and he stopped. 

“Can I?” he murmured. 

Katria swallowed. “Please,” she said, a little breathless. She kissed him briefly and then spun around, pulling her hair over her shoulder to give him access to the long line of small buttons down her back. 

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered, and she giggled. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the nape of her neck before clumsily undoing some of the buttons. She bobbed on the balls of her feet, clasping her fingers behind her back. 

Cullen was focused so completely on getting her damn dress off that he did not notice her fingers creeping up his leg until they were brushing his inner thigh. 

“Um— _Kat_ ,” he blurted out, her name punctuated by a heavy sigh as the heel of her palm slid down his cock. 

“What?” she asked with an innocent lilt. Her shoulder blades arched in as her other hand slid up his thigh. 

Cullen rested his forehead against her back, abandoning his work while she continued hers. He thrust up into her hand and tightened his hold on her.

“Oh…” He clenched his teeth and groaned. “Maker, Kat, I can’t concentrate when you…” 

“Shame,” she said, fingers so deft and everywhere and he couldn’t _breathe_ he wanted her so badly. “If you got the dress off, you’d see that I’m not wearing anything underneath.” 

Cullen stopped, his fingers clamping tight around her arm. “What?” 

“Well, technically only on top but-,” 

He ignored her; he ignored her and reached down into his boot for the blade hidden there. 

“Hold still,” he ordered, interrupting her, not waiting for her reply as he sliced through the strings attached to some of the buttons. 

Katria gasped. “Cullen, this dress was expens-,” 

He tossed the dagger aside and it clattered against the desk. He grabbed the seam he’d made on her back and wrested the dress open the rest of the way down to her waist, popping the buttons off and sending them skittering across the floor. 

“Cullen!” 

She spun around, smiling, one arm across her chest to hold up the drooping neckline. Cullen slid his hand along her cheek and kissed her. 

“You ruined my dress,” she whispered. 

“Tell Josie to dock it from my pay,” he replied, grinning. 

Katria pressed her mouth against his as her hands moved to slide the dress off each of her shoulders. Once she wiggled out of the sleeves, it gathered at her waist. Cullen hesitated, but when her tongue drew a devastating line across his lower lip, he tugged the dress over her hips. It slumped to the floor, a pool of blue at her feet. 

Cullen leaned back as she crossed her arms over her bare chest with a bashful expression. He did not understand it—she would always be the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, despite how nervous her imperfections made her. They were hardly visible now; the ropey crisscross of scars on the side of her waist, the line on her collarbone, a small nick on her stomach that she must have gotten while he was gone. It momentarily distracted him, the thought that she had been harmed while he was in South Reach. 

He snapped back into focus when his cock throbbed in his breeches, and he greedily slid his hands from her stomach to the curve of her ass. He put his mouth against the base of her neck, hoping it might entice her to move her arms. 

“Cullen, it’s cold.” 

“What?” he said, then noticed the gooseflesh across her chest. Maker, he’d let himself get bad at this. 

“It’s _cold_ ,” she repeated, curling her toes against the rough stone under her. “And I enjoyed the desk last time, but I’d hate for one of us to hurt our backs.” 

Cullen flushed red—Katria was always blunt, utterly unromantic when she talked about sex. Which he supposed suited him fine because romance was not his specialty. 

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yes. I will, um…” 

Cullen wrapped his arms around her waist—her skin did feel ice cold against him—and hoisted her up, her feet dangling a few inches off the ground. She giggled as he carried her away from the desk and her legs bumped his thighs. Just as she wrapped herself around him, he tossed her into the bed, sending pillows tumbling to the ground as she sunk into it. 

He pulled his tunic over his head, discarding it somewhere before he crawled over her. 

“Better?” he asked. 

“Sex with no armor _and_ in a bed?” she began. “You spoil me.”

“You just wait,” he replied, sinking down on top of her. His mouth found her neck again while his hand cupped her breast and raked a thumb across her pert nipple. Her leg jerked from the sudden sensation, and she moaned. 

Cullen considered moving down, but then decided to suck harder on the sensitive skin under her ear. She gripped his hair. “Be careful—you’ll leave a mark,” she murmured. 

His voice rasped against her neck. “What if I want to?” 

“Oh?” 

He grazed his teeth across her soft skin. “So that scrawny duke knows that even if you marry him, you belong to someone else.” 

“I don’t belong to anyone, Cullen.” 

He raised himself on his elbow to look at her. She regarded him thoughtfully before he could apologize. “Well, I suppose we could say my _heart_ belongs to you.” 

Cullen pushed some hair off her forehead. “Anything you want, Kat.” 

She smiled and captured his lips in an unhurried kiss. It was languid and sweet and he marveled at his luck—he could lay here for hours if he wanted, wrapped in silk sheets and the warmth of a woman who responded to even his feather-light touches.

Cullen reacquainted himself with the body he’d thought about for so long, inch for inch—her scars, the rough callouses on her hands, her soft skin everywhere else, the way she squirmed and giggled when his fingers tickled the skin stretched across her ribs.

Katria’s hands slid across his back, along his arms, exploring her favorite parts of him. She smiled at certain points when they kissed; he could feel the corners of her lips curl up because she still laughed in moments steeped with tension or passion. Her fingers danced down his spine, then pressed more firmly when she reached the waist of his breeches. She followed them around his hips to his stomach, not reaching lower, just teasing him with the slow circle of her nails. 

The proximity of her hand made him inhale deeply through his nose. He was suddenly harder, his blood on fire. 

Their gentle touches turned urgent; she gripped his hair, nails sharp in his scalp, as he took one breast in his mouth, his hand roughly pulling her smalls down. She keened, throwing her head back, then thrust her hand into his breeches. 

Cullen made a low noise in his throat and moved up to kiss her fully. She slid her hand back up the muscles on his stomach, and he mourned the loss of contact, until she squared herself under him and rolled her hips, dragging herself along his concealed length. 

“Maker…” he breathed, and she trailed kisses along his cheek. 

“Cullen, please,” she said with a small whine, rubbing her wetness against him again.

He did not need further persuasion. Cullen quickly divested himself of his breeches and smalls and kicked them off the bed. He considered telling her he loved her, but she crooked a leg around his hips and pulled him on top of her. 

Cullen steadied himself with an elbow above her head, and she inhaled a sharp breath when he eased inside her. He registered the noise only after a moan, deep in his chest, slipped through his clenched teeth. This was—it was perfect; it was better than all the times he’d imagined and yearned for this moment the past few months. He hadn’t realized how utterly and desperately he’d missed her until she was slick and hot around him again for the first time in years. 

He stopped because of her gasp, though his muscles quivered in protest. He was too eager; he knew it. Frantic to be inside her, to feel her warmth.

“I’m s-,” 

Katria bucked her hips against him— _Maker_ , the feeling almost split him in two—and her hands clawed at the curly ends of his hair. 

“Don’t stop,” she ordered breathlessly. “Cullen, I love you— _don’t stop_.” 

The second time those words left her mouth was no different from the first. It sent his mind spinning—the words rattling around in a brain empty except for his feelings for her. _I love you, I love you, I love you_. 

Cullen slid his hand along the pale skin of her thigh before settling against her. He felt her warm breath fanning across his shoulder and her blunt nails digging into the skin of his back like pin pricks when he thrust the rest of the way into her. 

“Maker, Kat. I…” Cullen fisted his hands in the sheets for better purchase and rolled his hips harder. “I love you, too,” he whispered hoarsely. He dipped his head down and pressed his forehead against hers. “So much.” 

She arched her back with a soft groan, her breasts perfect and bouncing each time he pulled out and buried himself in her. Their eyes met through her dark lashes, her blue tint hidden in shadow, and the intensity of it addled the remainder of his coherent thoughts. Her hand scraped the skin on his cheek as she pulled him down into a kiss, their teeth clinking together before her head tilted back to give him better access. 

He broke their kiss and straightened one elbow to look at her—flushed across her cheeks with sweat glistening on her temple.

“Katria, I do. I love you. Y-You have no idea….”

She wrapped her legs around him and squeezed his waist between her thighs. “I suppose you could _show_ me…” she whispered with a wry smile, her white teeth shining in the shadows. 

Cullen grinned and peppered wet kisses across her neck. “You’re a smart-ass even during sex, hm?” He pushed deep inside her on his last word, wresting a satisfying gasp from her. 

She tilted her head back and bit down gently on her lip. The line of her body arching up from the bed drove him wild. “A-Am I not being serious enough for you, Commander?” 

Cullen crushed her mouth against his in a bruising kiss in reply. He untangled his fingers from the sheets and moved them to pin her wrists just above her head. She moaned in his mouth, the sound vibrating down into his chest. 

“You are more than enough for me, Inquisitor,” he murmured when he pulled away. 

He reflexively tightened his hold on her wrists as she writhed under him, her breaths shortening into needy gasps. He drove roughly into her, over and over, losing his rhythm, as a strong twist of desire coursed through him. The strangled sound he made was punctuated by the continuing creak of the mattress. 

Katria’s heels dug deeper into his back, her hips lifting to meet his increasingly erratic thrusts. “Cullen,” she gasped out. “Cullen— _ah_. Tell me. Please. _Please_.” 

He couldn’t resist her now—not when he was so close, not when she felt like the single most important thing in the world. Cullen gave a low growl and buried his face in her neck, tasting the salt in her skin and dragging his teeth along her pulse point. He hardly recognized his voice when he spoke; he sounded breathless, gruff— _desperate_.

His lifted his head a few inches to her ear, his breath rustling her hair that was matted with sweat. “Don’t sign it,” he whispered. “Kat, I need you. Maker’s—f-fuck, I _won’t_ share you. Turn him _down_.” 

She gave a breathy groan in reply, his words driving her to frantically grind herself against his hips. He released her hands as her walls tightened around him, and they flew down to tangle in his hair. She kissed him clumsily. 

“Yes, Cullen. _Yes_.”

Katria swiftly unraveled, her heels sliding down over his ass and her mouth dropping open in a silent cry. She squirmed and fisted her fingers almost painfully in his hair, then her body went rigid as she came hard around him with a loud, broken moan.

Cullen’s eyes wrenched shut hearing her cries—she’d said yes. Yes to him, yes to them being together, and somewhere deep past the fog that had settled over his brain he knew she hadn’t meant it. She was replaying some fantasy over and over in her mind where making love with him in this bed was a normal occurrence and not a bad idea, where the smiles they gave each other weren’t filled with so much longing and sadness. Cullen had that fantasy, too. And more. Because the satisfaction she gave him when they fucked would be nothing compared to waking up beside her in the morning or marrying her or having a family with her. 

Katria was panting underneath him, her lips against his neck and shoulder. He slid his hand to her hip and pinned her down, driving her body into the mattress.

He buried his nose in her hair, the pleasure pricking every inch of his body squeezing words from his throat. “Marry me,” he choked out, his breath afterwards coming out almost as a sob. “Please _marry me instead_.”

He felt her fingers clench against his shoulders before all sensation was lost to the hot, singular pulse of desire that hit him. 

His lips parted and a series of embarrassing noises left him as he came and thrust into her a final time. The tension in his muscles loosened bit by bit, and he whispered her name into her neck in one last shaky exhale. 

Cullen stayed on top of her, panting, until the muscles in his arms ached so much, he collapsed sideways, still draped over half of her, drinking in long gulps of air. 

They laid in a dizzying haze for a few moments—their labored breathing harsh against the silence in the rest of the room. His arms were splayed out, one above his head, the other across her stomach—his exhaustion settled in his bones, along with a muted hum of satisfaction. He had a lazy smile on his face, until a nagging voice in his head told him that perhaps what they’d done wasn’t a good idea. 

Katria’s body was trembling and slick with sweat. She shifted slightly, before he felt her turn completely away from him to her side. 

Cullen scooted to her, slotting his body next to hers with her back to his chest. He nestled his face in the crook of her neck.

She didn’t lean against him; instead, her pale arm reached for an extra pillow, and she crushed it to her chest and face. He could feel her ribcage expanding and contracting as she tried to catch her breath. 

A muffled whimper escaped from her a few moments later. Cullen opened his eyes and lifted his head to get a better look at her. He still felt out of sorts and stared at her dumbly, until he noticed she was clinging so tightly to the pillow her knuckles were white.

“K-Katria?” 

All he could see of her was the blotchy edges of her cheeks and the dampness growing across the fabric of the pillow. She cried harder into it, her bare shoulders shaking.

Cullen felt like a vice was crushing his windpipe. He took a few panicked breaths—guilt, confusion, terror shuddered through him. His fingers clumsily pushed the hair that was plastered with tears away from her face. 

“What’s wrong, Kat?” he asked. “Please tell me.” He buried his face in her shoulder, clinging to her with one arm around her waist. When she did not reply, he closed his eyes and grit his teeth because he already knew what was wrong. 

“Maker’s breath, I’m so sorry,” he said, his heart thudding as fast as it had been just a few minutes ago. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to—I just shouldn’t have.” 

Cullen rubbed her arm, trying to soothe her; her stifled cries tore him limb from limb, then his throat tightened—he had been a blighted fool for saying those things. He took a long, slow breath through his nose to keep any further emotion from breaking through. 

“Katria, please…” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she eventually said, sniffling and pulling the pillow away from her blotchy face. She slumped down further into the blankets, defeated. “I don’t mean to cry. I just-,” She swallowed roughly. “Love you a lot and I can’t figure out what I’m going to do. I want to be with you so badly.” Her eyes welled with tears, and she rubbed them away with one hand. “When you told me to marry you instead…” 

“I didn’t mean it,” Cullen said hurriedly. 

Katria rolled onto her back, staring up at him with eyes bright from her tears. Her hair had unfurled in soft waves from her braid and spilled over her shoulders. She looked beautiful, and maybe he was lying; a white lie because he had meant what he said. If she wanted to, he might marry her just so Laurent couldn’t. 

“You meant it, Cullen,” she said. 

“Kat-,” 

“I know you did,” she insisted, raising a hand to the hair on the nape of his neck as he leaned over her. “That’s what hurts so much. I would marry you because I love you. Seeing you again all those months ago was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. But…I don’t think it was the best thing to happen to the Inquisition.”

“I understand,” he said. “I’m not going to be angry at you if you marry him.” 

Katria sighed. “It means we can’t be together.” 

Cullen hesitated, then brought his hand to her cheek. “It doesn’t have to mean that.” 

Her brow furrowed. “What?” 

“I—I mean, like you said, this marriage is an alliance. It’s not about love,” he began. “We could…still be together in secret even if you’re with Laurent.” 

Katria abruptly sat up, pulling the blanket with her and holding it across the swell of her breasts. “Cullen,” she began incredulously. “Are you really suggesting…” She shook her head. “No. No way.” 

“Why not?” he asked, sitting up next to her. 

She gave him a disgusted look, then turned and slipped out of the bed. She grabbed her robe and pulled it around her, knotting it clumsily at her waist.

“I would never ask that of you,” she said, striding over to her desk. 

“You don’t have to,” he replied. “I want it.” 

“Cullen, you don’t,” she insisted. “I know you don’t.” 

He scooted to the edge of the bed, scooping up his discarded breeches. He jumped into them and half-heartedly tied them off. She watched him approach the desk, her eyes raking over his exposed torso before her gaze abruptly broke away to the floor. 

“Why do you say that?” he asked, facing her as she turned her shoulder to him. 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “Cullen, I love you, but you can’t be my…Maker, I don’t even know, but you can’t be _that_.” She dropped one of her hands in a frustrated gesture. “I would never do that to you. I’m not going to keep you around for the rest of your life just so I can have sex with you. Or—or something similar, I don’t know.” 

“People do that all the time,” Cullen said. “Vivienne did.” 

“That doesn’t make it fair,” she replied, spinning to face him. “It might be great and nice and feel real, but I can’t…” She clenched her jaw, eyes glassy again. “I know you want a family, and I can’t give you one.” 

He shook his head. “I can…get over that, Kat.” 

"Don't _say that_ ," Katria ordered. "You can't sacrifice your dream for me." 

"I will," he said. "Because I love you." 

She smiled very sadly then, her lips trembling; she gently cupped his face in her hands. A few tears escaped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, Cullen,” she whispered. “You sweet man. I know you’re trying to be good and do the noble thing by advising me to sign the contract. If we go forward with that plan to protect the Inquisition, we can’t be together. I really don’t think you’ve considered what this marriage means.”

“I have considered,” he protested, brows arched inwards. “I think about it all the time.” 

“You don’t,” Katria said softly. She pulled him closer with her hands, breath warm against his face. A few more tears fell freely. She paused, chest rising and brushing his as she took a steadying breath. Her voice shook—it was thick, dense with despair.

“Noble marriage is about bloodlines and heirs. I will have to provide Laurent with children, no question.” Her hands tightened around his face, gaze unwavering. “It won’t be often, but I will have to fuck him, like I just did with you. In that bed.” 

Cullen’s stomach churned at her words, and he tried to pull away, but she held fast to him. “Katria-,” 

She swallowed; her eyes were swimming with tears now. “Listen to me. This marriage means he will release his seed inside me, again and again, until he has the number of heirs he wants.” 

He squirmed. “Just—stop.” 

Her voice was hardly a whisper. “You will have to sit and watch me become heavy with his child-,”

“I said _stop_!” he snarled, as he wrenched from her grasp, violently jostling the desk as he staggered backwards into it. “Why would you say that?” he demanded angrily. 

“Because it’s the truth!” she exclaimed with her hands thrown out. “That’s the fucking reality, Cullen, and you want to be noble and professional and have me while you’re at it, but you haven’t thought enough about it.” 

“I have,” he snapped. “You have no idea-,” 

“You can’t even handle _listening_ to what’s going to happen,” she cut in. “How exactly are you supposed to handle it—the children, the marriage, the sex—when it’s _actually_ happening between Laurent and I?”

Cullen clenched his fists against the desk—furious because the things he was thinking about made him want to retch. 

“ _I don’t know_!” he shouted; his voice felt thundering, and it hurt his lungs and his eyes watered, though probably for other reasons. He hated himself for raising his voice at her. “I don’t fucking know how I’m supposed to live with this, Katria.” 

The silence after his outburst was trembling and tense like they were. Katria tapped her foot against the floor a few times, muscles taunt from trying to keep her composure. Her face broke after a few moments, a choked whimper breaking the silence before she covered her face and collapsed into the chair beside her. 

Cullen bowed his head, taking a moment to sigh before he knelt down in front of her with one knee against the floor. He rested his forehead against the crown of her head and leaned forward to rub soothing circles on her back. 

“Hey,” he said softly, as she shuddered from the sobs overtaking her. “It’s okay. Don’t-”

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m so _sorry_. It was horrible of me to say those things.” 

Cullen swallowed and shook his head. “It wasn’t. You were telling the truth. I should not have raised my voice. I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t…” She pressed her palms into her eyes, wiping away the wet tracks her tears had left on her cheeks. “I don’t know what to do.” 

He stopped and lowered his head. Her hair was like a blanket across his face, and he buried himself further into it. 

“You’re right that we can’t keep doing this,” he said. “If you marry Laurent, then…we move on, for the sake of the Inquisition.” 

Cullen pulled back, then took both of her hands in his. He met her bloodshot eyes and squeezed her fingers. “Listen, Katria, none of this means that I won’t be here. Marry Laurent, have his children or don’t marry him and burn Vivienne’s estate to the ground—I will support you, and I will never leave again.” He exhaled, watching as she stilled, her eyes damp, face relaxing as he caressed her knuckles with his thumbs. 

“I will be here for you, Kat. Always.” 

She bit her quivering lip. “You’re wonderful. Please stop.”

Cullen kissed her fingers, smiling slightly. “Right. Be an ass. I forgot.”

“That would help,” she said.

He straightened and released his grip. “Will you be alright?” 

Katria leaned back, scrubbing her face a final time. “I’ll try.” She looked up at him. “Do you have to go?” 

His thumb touched the scar on her cheek—he knew she needed space, even though he wanted nothing more than to hold her until the sun rose. “I should. Your decision is not mine to interfere with.” 

She only nodded in reply, and he turned away towards the bed. 

“I need to find my shirt,” he muttered

“I don’t know,” she said a shrug. “You don’t look half-bad without it.”

Cullen blushed, though Katria groaned before he could reply. “Maker’s balls, I’m sorry. I should not say things like that.” She buried her face in one hand. “Humor is just easier when the alternative is sniveling like a child.” 

He pulled his shirt over his head after he found it crumpled in her blankets. He walked over once he’d slipped into his boots. “You’re too hard on yourself.” 

Katria stood from the chair and embraced him, her arms circling his chest. He raised one hand to the back of her head to stroke her hair. 

“You won’t be angry if I marry him?” she asked weakly. “Even though I’m the one who asked you to stay tonight?” 

“Never,” he assured her with a squeeze. Dread tightened his jaw, though he hoped she didn’t notice. The truth of the matter settled over him—the urgency of it. He’d stare through the hole in his ceiling for the remainder of the night, restless, and then in the morning she’d be officially promised to someone else, if that's what she decided. 

She pulled back, and he barely suppressed his urge to kiss her. He wanted to be with her in the bed again; he wanted to stay. Her fingers felt like hot coals sliding down his torso—her touch left a lingering burn in his mind he’d remember for hours.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she whispered. “I might not do it.” 

He wanted to believe her, but her eyes were glistening with tears again, so he did not. 

Cullen slid his hand to her ear, across the line of her jaw, and held her chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted her head up until her lips brushed his—a chaste, dry kiss. The last one. The final second of _them_ as Katria and Cullen. He tried not to linger. His jaw ached to open to her, so he pulled away. 

Katria opened her eyes slowly, focusing on him only after her brow puckered in an expression of despair. The density of his emotions tightened his throat, and though he insisted internally he was doing the right thing, it did not comfort him enough to find any words that wouldn’t swiftly shatter his composure. 

Instead of saying anything, Cullen moved towards the door, and every step was heavier than the one before it. Reassuring words unspooled across his mind—it was her decision, for the Inquisition, for their jobs. Being cautious and risk-averse was good. He was being noble. 

None of it helped. 

He felt her eyes still on him, and as he reached the top of the stairs she spoke. 

“Goodbye Cullen.” 

He nodded once. “Inquisitor.” 

His face was wet when he reached the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess the third thing I should have mentioned was that the angst is high with this chapter.


	28. Chapter 28

As Cullen suspected, he did not sleep at all that night. He cycled through a litany of emotions that were not comforting—he was never content or even just resigned. He could not be numb to these feelings like he wanted. He was blisteringly angry and punched his bookshelf hard enough that the whole structure wobbled, then he would be frustrated, a ball of tense muscles and clenched fists, waiting to explode again when he thought about Katria with her future husband.

And the tiniest part of him was very, very sad. He would not admit it, even to himself. His heartbreak would consume him more than it already had—the thought that he would spend the rest of his life an arm’s length away from the woman he loved, unable to reach out to her. What a fool he had been for letting her go the first time. That was the worst of it. The unflinching, devastating truth of the matter: he _let her go_. Katria could pretend it was her fault, but Cullen was the one who walked away. Did he think he could just dump Katria, and find someone else he felt as strongly for? Someone else to fall in love with? Because there was no one else but her. 

The sun eventually rose, and light spilled into his office from the narrow windows, painting his desk in warm colors when he much preferred being surrounded by the black night. Cullen knew he would look a little insane to a bystander in that moment because he turned with a fierce glare to the window, clenching his fists until they shook at the new day. The new fucking day where Katria came to him and told him the decision he’d already knew she made. He wanted it to be dark forever. 

A knock came at his door—three succinct, insistent taps. 

“Commander Cullen?” 

He soothed back his unkempt hair and straightened his jacket. “What?” he snapped. 

The door opened, and an Inquisition soldier appeared. Cullen squinted in the early morning light—based on the extra sigil on his shoulder, he was one of Katria’s guards. 

“What do you want?” Cullen demanded. “You should be reporting to Blackwall.” 

He was aware his temper was unbecoming. He did not care. 

“I apologize, ser,” the man began, swallowing nervously. “But we’ve a small emergency that Captain Blackwall asked me to notify you of.” 

“Emergency?” 

The soldier folded his hands together to stop from fidgeting. “The Inquisitor is, um, gone. Missing. Or-,” 

Cullen’s chair screeched back as he stood. “ _What_?”

“According to the guards posted outside her room, she left very late in the evening under the premise of getting something to eat from the kitchens,” the man explained quickly. “She did not return, and her horse is missing from the stables.”

“How could you _let her_ ¬,” Cullen grunted and cut himself off with a sharp exhale. There was no use berating these recruits for being fooled by a very clever and determined woman. He rounded his desk and strode past the guard without another word. 

He tried to keep himself from sprinting to the Inquisitor’s room; there was nothing to worry about, most likely. Katria probably went out to get some air. But she was alone and could get hurt—the thought made his jaw clench. 

Cullen threw open the door to her room and climbed the stairs. Leliana and Josephine were already there. He froze when he saw Josie bend down and pick up Katria’s discarded dress—the tear he’d made was so long it hardly looked like clothing anymore. 

Josie was concerned. “She was wearing this yesterday evening. Look at how badly it’s been torn. What could have happened? Perhaps someone hurt her?”

“Uh-,” Cullen stopped and cleared his throat. The other women turned to look at him. He was blushing and tapping his sword, so he doubted he needed to even admit what had happened. 

“She’s—no one harmed her. I mean, with the dress. It was… _I_ was the one who did that.” 

Her brows rose, and she hastily dropped it. “Oh. I see.” 

“You saw the Inquisitor last night?” Leliana asked, arms crossed. She looked over at the bed, where the blankets were still thrown back, pillows littering the floor. 

“Um, yes,” he said, rubbing his neck and wishing he could melt. “Briefly. It was close to midnight. I left soon after.” 

Leliana frowned. “You have no idea where she might be?” 

“No, of course not,” he replied instantly. “I would have followed her if I knew.” 

Josephine clasped her hands together. “I assume Katria was still upset about Laurent’s proposal?” 

“Obviously.” 

Cullen crossed the room to her desk. In the stark light from outside, the room seemed barren and cold. He did not like being here without Katria, or being reminded of what happened. 

The surface of the desk was mostly clear—there were only a few neatly stacked reports and ink wells. Cullen shooed the two other advisors aside so he could stand in front of the drawers. He hesitated, then pulled one open—the one Katria had put Laurent’s contract in the night before. 

The contract was gone, and the drawer was empty, saved for a small piece of folded parchment. Cullen felt a surge of panic crash over him—why would she have taken the proposal with her? What was her plan? 

He grabbed the note left behind and unfolded it. Only one word had been scrawled across the parchment:

_Val Royeaux._

===

The Grand Cathedral was a magnificent structure—the epitome of Orlesian opulence and excess. Ironic for it to be the home of a religion that once preached austerity and frugality. Katria had visited the area frequently and found the whole structure detestable. 

In addition to being lavishly decorated, the church was well-guarded, especially when Divine Victoria was present. Which she was, hence the reason for Katria’s visit. 

Katria knew she was being reckless. She knew her advisors, Cullen especially, would be annoyed she jeopardized her safety and acted so brashly. But that wasn’t her concern at the moment—to her, this was the right thing to do. Mostly because she was doing _something_. 

Katria also knew she shouldn’t have asked Cullen to stay that night. It only plunged the knife deeper. An exquisite self-flagellation because the sex had been fantastic, but also punishing—it only made her yearn for him more. Her heart grew larger for him, loved him, and they could still not be together. 

Katria cried about it. Very hard and unattractively. She took loud, heaving breaths in the silent room after he left, slumped in her chair, tears and snot streaming down her face. When her sobs had finally subsided, she was spent. She felt flattened, weak. 

And then a surge of shame hit her—she rebuked herself for showing such sentiment, for not being witty and glib and hiding away. Most of all, she hated that she was sitting around feeling sorry for herself. The Inquisitor was supposed to be empowered and confident; a person not afraid to work or get her hands dirty for the job. 

That’s why she went to Val Royeaux. Out of desperation, maybe, but also because being in Skyhold resigned to her fate would get her nowhere. It was Cullen’s fault; he was reverent and supportive and trusting—how was she supposed to resist him? How was she supposed to continue living her life without him when he made everything so wonderful?

Katria did not know how far she would make it into the city, at first. She rode hard and fast to Val Royeaux over two days, but she knew by sunrise the night she left that her disappearance would be discovered. Cullen would dispatch soldiers, Leliana would send ravens—there might be a whole Inquisition unit waiting for her.

Luckily, stealth was her specialty, and she remained undetected the first few hours she was there. It wasn’t terribly difficult; as long as Katria didn’t wear her gray cloak and kept her head down, she just looked like a travel-weary woman in unpretentious clothes. 

No one in the Grand Cathedral recognized her. She restricted herself to the extravagant gardens surrounding the building. The layout of the area was branded in her memory, including the location of Cassandra’s private quarters. 

Divine Victoria screamed when Katria pried open the window to her sitting room. The same low, surprised sound she’d made when Katria had found her reading Varric’s romance serial. Except Cassandra wore very different clothes now from the ones she’d donned while working with the Inquisition. As Divine, she was restricted to the white, red, and gold trim of the Chantry. As Cassandra stared aghast at Katria, she was wearing a set of conservative robes; a tall, oddly shaped hat sat untouched on the table in front of her. 

Katria paused, one leg in the room and the other dangling outside the window. 

“Is this a bad time?” she asked. 

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra sputtered. “How—What are you doing here?”

Katria hopped down from the window sill. “Excellent question,” she said, while crossing the room. She stopped in front of the two white doors leading to the hallway and shut them. “I need to talk to you.” 

Cassandra furrowed her brow. “I have a meeting soon.” 

“They can wait,” Katria replied simply. She sat down on the plush chair perpendicular to the couch. She looked around the room—it was mostly white, with gilded finishes and expensive, well-made furniture. A place to read or just sit around and feel important. “Do you have any wine? Or brandy?” 

Cassandra raised a well-groomed eyebrow. “This is the Grand Cathedral.”

“So that’s a no?” 

She huffed. “Katria, what are you doing here?” 

“I…” Katria trailed off because she wasn’t entirely sure she could articulate what she was doing. “I’m just…here. I want to talk.” 

“What do you wish to talk about?” Cassandra asked. 

Katria shifted and dug her nails into the fine white fabric that covered her chair. “Many things. _Too_ many things.” She sighed. “And they’re all intertwined in this big complicated mess.” 

Cassandra tugged on one of the red panels of her robe. “Is something wrong?” 

She looked away. “You must have heard that I’m in negotiations to marry Duke Ghislain.” 

“I have heard,” she replied, smiling slightly. “I have spies, too.” 

“Right,” Katria said. “Well, I’m sure you’re not surprised by this, but I really have no interest in entering a political union.” 

Cassandra snorted. “That does not surprise me at all.” 

“I first considered the marriage when Josephine suggested it because at the time, I was very much out of options when it came to…” She rubbed her eyes with her thumb and index finger. “When it came to combatting Vivienne’s influence. She’s protesting my reforms.” 

“Our reforms,” Cassandra said. “And I am well aware of that.” 

Katria looked up—her friend’s face was hard-set and passive, though that was normally her expression. She bit her lip. “You haven’t written. Communicated with me at all.”

Cassandra let out a slow breath, but kept her shoulders straight. “I have been very busy. You must understand that I am beholden to more than the Inquisition,” she said. “There are many in Thedas who believe our second round of reforms went too far.” 

Katria winced. “I know that, but-,” 

“It is nothing personal, Inquisitor,” Cassandra interjected, meeting her gaze. “I simply could not allow the accusations that I am the Inquisition’s puppet to continue. I needed to separate myself to fully understand the impact of the changes we made.” 

“They will work,” she insisted, scooting forward in her chair. “I am sure they can.” 

“At the Circle in Skyhold, perhaps,” Cassandra replied. “But other places have struggled more.” 

Katria clenched her jaw. “If you reverse the reforms, you’ll anger Fiona and some of the mages will revolt all over again.” 

“I’m not going to argue with you,” she said. 

Katria ran her hand through her matted hair. “I’m not trying to. I just…I just want to know that you aren’t going to agree with Vivienne and undo all the work we’ve done.” 

“I can’t guarantee that,” Cassandra said. 

“Why?” she asked. “Has Vivienne convinced you to take action?” 

Cassandra shook her head. “You have too little faith in me.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?” 

She shifted and rested her elbow on her knee—something Cass always did that looked so odd now as she wore Chantry robes. 

“You think I will be swayed by Vivienne’s political favors and honeyed words,” she began. “You do not give me enough credit. My _only_ consideration as Divine is doing the Maker’s work and also doing what is best for Thedas.” She lifted her other hand. “That also means that I can’t give you special consideration on the basis of our friendship. You pressured me aggressively to pass these reforms, and I acquiesced, but don’t expect me to not take other action if necessary.”

Katria’s throat felt dry—she bowed her head and pursed her lips into a thin line. “Forgive me,” she said. “I…I let myself _fixate_ on Vivienne because we are enemies who were once friends. Instead of trusting you, I grew paranoid. I should not have pushed you so hard and leveraged our friendship that way. I can respect the distance between us. No letters.”

“I don’t want that,” Cassandra said. “You are a friend, and I have too few of those, according to Varric. Especially now. I just thought it politically advisable for me to establish myself independent of the Inquisition.” 

To Katria’s surprise, her friend leaned forward and grabbed her hand. “I still believe you are one of the best and most just leaders of our time, and I will stand by you, always, but instead of being a servant to the Inquisition, I now guide the Chantry, and I am beholden to only the Maker.”

Katria covered her hand with her own. “This is becoming a surprisingly sentimental conversation.” 

“I abhor it.” 

She gave a short laugh and returned Cassandra’s hand to her. “We should stop immediately before someone sees.” 

Katria’s smile faded slightly—of course she was happy Cassandra was still her friend, but she had also made it clear she would not be doing Katria any political favors based on that friendship. If Cass thought the reforms should be reversed, she’d do it, no questions asked. It was still worrying, though it helped to know Vivienne did not have any undue influence on her. 

Still, Vivienne’s influence stretched far. If she couldn’t convince Cassandra to give her what she wanted, she could go to Celene, Alistair, Laurent—all people who in turn could put pressure on the Chantry that occupied territory in their countries on their good graces. Vivienne was clearly not above using manipulation to reach her goals, and her target could include any of those noble players. Or even Cassandra herself. 

“I can see that this is not your only problem,” Cassandra remarked, studying the look of consternation on Katria’s face. 

Her brow relaxed, and she sighed. “My other issue is more personal.” 

“Discuss,” Cassandra ordered. 

Katria smiled wanly and rested her head against her hand. “Cullen returned to the Inquisition. He…well, we seem to be in love.” 

Cassandra’s eyes widened—the flicker of joy at the prospect of _romance_ was evident on her face. 

“Truly?” 

She nodded. “I love him, at least, but…” She swallowed. “Laurent has asked me officially to marry him. The benefits gained from our alliance would be staggering, I…I might have to agree to it rather than be with Cullen.” 

Cass clasped her hands together. “Unrequited love?” She grinned dreamily. “That’s so-,” 

Katria groaned. “Maker, this is my _life_ we’re talking about. Not one of Varric’s books. Cullen will not be dueling Laurent for my hand in marriage, nor will I will running off with him to Antiva.”

“Right, right,” she said quickly, lowering her arms. “I am sorry. That seems like a difficult situation.” 

“An impossible one,” Katria countered. “I…I’m so…” Her throat felt thick, tight, and she clenched her fist against her forehead. 

Cassandra’s expression softened. “There must be something you can do.” 

“Trust me, I’ve thought about it,” Katria said with a bitter laugh. “I need to have Vivienne removed from her position as Court Enchanter of Orlais. Celene won’t do it, and Laurent won’t either unless I marry him.” 

“Why wouldn’t the Empress remove her?” Cassandra asked. “You saved Orlais from destruction, and her life personally.” 

Katria shook her head. “Celene’s gratitude has understandably decreased as the years have passed. She feels more secure. I consider her a friend, but she’s not going to vacate Vivienne’s position just because I ask her to.” 

Cassandra furrowed her brow in thought. “You have no insight into Vivienne’s actions? Something that might anger Celene?” 

“No,” Katria said. “Vivienne’s too _good_. The only thing she has done is coerce the Keepers into targeting South Reach so I’d be reunited with Cullen again. A desperate move because my marriage to Laurent was almost assured…” She rubbed her face with both hands. “A move that _worked_ because Cullen is just so frustratingly handsome and kind and I love him. If I turn down Laurent, I’m playing right into her hand.” 

She flopped back against her chair. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Celene won’t give a rat’s ass what the Keepers are doing in Ferelden. There’s no leverage in that with…” She paused and ran her finger across her bottom lip, brows drawn together. “No leverage in that with _her_.” 

Cassandra let a slow smile spread across her face. “Alistair might care that Vivienne directed them there. If you can prove it.” 

“I know that it’s true,” Katria said. “Honestly, we could fabricate convincing evidence, and Vivienne would likely not be able to refute it because…” She grinned and let out a short exhale. “Because I killed most of the mercenary group sent there, and _they_ killed the Keepers in that area.” 

Cassandra rested her chin on her hand. “King Alistair does not control the membership of the Orlesian court.” 

“He does not,” she agreed. “But I have the most pull with Alistair. We get along. We’re both-,” 

“Insufferably glib?” Cassandra suggested. 

“Light-heard and humorous,” Katria said with a playful glare. “The point is, I could convince Alistair to confront Celene about the fact that a member of her court is… _technically_ orchestrating violence in his country.” She drummed her fingers together. “Celene champions peace—that’s why I saved her at the Winter Palace. If she can avoid a conflict with Ferelden by doing what Alistair and I ask her, she probably will.” 

“A sound strategy,” she remarked. 

“Imperfect,” Katria muttered. “If I don’t marry Laurent, he might be compelled to stick up for Vivienne and help her keep her job. He’s the head of the Council of Heralds, and Celene needs to be in their good graces more than she needs to be in Ferelden’s.” 

Cass shrugged. “You don’t think Laurent is the reasonable sort?” 

“He’s not going to condemn Vivienne just because I _ask_ ,” Katria said. “That’s why Josie thought to marry the two of us. He needs something in return. He’s been kind to me, but he’s not stupid. In fact, he’ll probably be angry if I turn him down.”

“You won’t be able to control every variable of this situation,” Cassandra pointed out. 

“I know.” Katria inhaled deeply through her nose, then closed her eyes as her head hung. “I know. That’s why my idea probably means nothing. Because I can’t allow myself to take the risk when the only payoff is my happiness.” 

“Why does that have so little value to you?” Cassandra asked. 

Katria ran her hand through her hair as she looked up at her. “Come on, Cass, you know we both serve things greater than ourselves. The Maker. Thedas. I know if _you_ were in love, you’d give up your relationship to the demands of being the Divine.” 

“I would,” she said. “Though I would not like it.” 

Katria looked out past the still-open window she’d climbed though. “See? I can’t either.” 

Cassandra grinned. “You compare yourself to others and seek their advice when there is no one else in the world like you. In your situation.” 

“There was technically another Inquisitor,” Katria said. “Nice guy.” 

“In the world we live in today, no one is like you. There is no organization like the Inquisition. It crosses borders and religions, gives hope to nobles and commoners—no one saved the world like you did.” 

“So what?” 

Cassandra glanced sideways at her tall cap sitting beside them. “I once asked you what guided you—I was surprised by how assured you were making decisions that shook all of Thedas.” She shifted her gaze to Katria. “You told me you did what your conscience told you. I admired you for it. I still do. How steadfastly you adhere to your morals even when it might be so easy to do something else. What does your conscience tell you now?”

“It’s not speaking as clearly as usual,” she admitted. “I don’t know.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Katria swallowed thickly. “I…I don’t like the Game, Cass. You know that. Even if I were good at it, my skin would still crawl. Marrying Laurent is playing the Game; it’s surrendering the last small part of me as _Katria_ to the Inquisition.” 

“And it is your identity as Katria that has led us to such great heights,” Cassandra said. “This image of the Inquisitor is not why you stand here more than two years after defeating Corypheus.” 

She just nodded in reply, eyes downcast in thought. It would take a tremendous amount of courage to do this, that was certain. To cast aside an easy answer that would cost a lifetime of misery and instead fight for love, for who she was. 

“You think I can do this?” Katria finally asked. 

Cassandra smiled. “I think it’s a risk,” she said. “And it’s a fight, but I’ve never known you to shy away from one of those.” 

Katria exhaled—would she really do it? Was Cassandra’s faith and her new plan enough? Would Cullen even _agree_ to be with her, or would he still insist that he was unworthy of such a sacrifice? 

“What if I fail?” Katria asked, her voice fainter. 

“Failure is when you stumble and don’t get back up,” Cassandra replied. “Vivienne may win a round or two, but it’s never a failure if you keep trying.” 

She stretched her legs out under the table; they were sore from riding so fast to Val Royeaux. “Would it be a failure if I quit my job to become a nug farmer? Or do you think Cullen would prefer growing wheat?”

“I think Cullen would drag you kicking and screaming back to Skyhold. I might help.”

“Be careful,” Katria said. “I’d probably bite.” 

Cass laughed before leaning back with her arms crossed. “I trust you to do the right thing, my friend. And…given your information about Vivienne’s proven communication, however minimal, with the Keepers, I would not be opposed to supporting her removal from the Orlesian court if I was approached by Celene.” 

Katria pressed forward. “Really?” 

She raised a hand. “I would not _advocate_ for it, but I would support it. I’m not sure how much that would help but-,” 

Katria hopped over onto the couch beside Cassandra and hugged her. She made a disgusted noise in turn, but still rested her cheek against the top of her head. 

“This is unnecessary.” 

“I’m thanking you for being a good friend,” Katria said, snuggling into her shoulder. 

“I want you and Cullen to be happy,” Cassandra replied. “Though, you know if you reject Laurent, Varric will want to write a book about all this.” 

Katria pulled away from her. “And you’d encourage him to do it, wouldn’t you?” 

“It _is_ very romantic,” Cassandra said. “And since you are always loathe to give me details about your love life, I must get them from somewhere.” 

She swept her hair behind her ear. “You’re a good friend, Cass. Damn the group of Chantry clerics who made you Divine and took you away from me.” 

“We are still friends,” Cassandra insisted. “Even apart. Even on days when we are too busy to write. And even when we have to separate our politics and personal lives.” 

“I know I wasn’t good at that before,” Katria admitted. “I see why it would necessitate you taking a break. But I’ve learned. Or improved, at least.” 

Cassandra reached past her for the hat on a small, marble table. “You have improved many things about me through our friendship, as well.” 

“Your joke delivery, for one,” Katria said. 

Cassandra placed the tall covering gently over her short hair. She stood, and seemed much taller with it on; the severity of her face was softened by the white in her robes. 

“Among other things,” Cass said. “Will you let me go to my meeting now?” 

Katria straightened beside her. “I suppose I’ll allow it.” 

“You are welcome to stay,” Cassandra remarked. “I can have a room prepared for you.” 

She scratched her cheek. “I appreciate the offer, but, ah, I should probably return to Skyhold. Laurent is still there, and I need to speak to him. Plus, I didn’t exactly…tell anyone I was coming here.” 

“I see your recklessness has not improved,” Cassandra replied with an arched brow. 

“And _you_ don’t really look any better in hats,” she said with a playful nudge. 

They headed to the doors together, and Katria took a deep breath as they reached the hallway. Before this, her fear and anxiety had felt so _large_. It flowed through her veins, seeped into her bones, and haunted her every thought. Now, it felt smaller, compressed into a small sliver, hardened so that she could push it away in favor of hope and confidence. It was still there, but manageable. 

Katria could reject Laurent and not fall to pieces from the guilt. Or, she thought she could. Commitment had always been as issue of hers, and committing to this would take a bravery she hoped she had. 

===

Cassandra branched off from Katria in the network of halls in the Grand Cathedral, promising to visit Skyhold in the near future, if only to get Varric to sign the latest edition of his romance serial. Rather than climb back out the window, Katria elected to use the front entrance of the cathedral and cross the city to get to her horse. 

As she was climbing the grand marble steps leading away from the door, she heard a voice call out to her. 

“Oh, Inquisitor!” 

The tone was a confident and condescending one. Unmistakable. 

Katria turned, her feet straddling two different steps. She got a glimpse of Vivienne’s ornate gown, her horned hat, the embroidery on her clothes glistening in the sunlight. She stood on the steps above Katria, probably on purpose. 

Of course Vivienne was here, still rooting around, trying to extend her influence. She was relentless, persistent, and Katria hated that she had to focus on other aspects of her job while Vivienne’s sole occupation was undermining her in the eyes of the Chantry. 

“What a surprise to see you here in Val Royeaux,” Vivienne said. 

Katria smiled half-heartedly. “I’d gone too long without seeing my best friend and thought I would pay a visit to her.” 

“I can imagine it must be difficult to maintain such a relationship given the demands of your job,” she replied, feigning sympathy. “Cassandra sees so little of you, after all.”

Katria stopped a disgusted noise from escaping her throat and shifted backwards. “I do what I can.” 

“Are you heading back to Skyhold?” Vivienne asked. “It’s so curious you are here, as I know Laurent is in your home now. He was so eager to speak to you. I wonder, did he ask you anything?” 

Katria’s skin prickled, from the sun beating down on them, from the irritation growing with each moment she was mired in this stupid and inauthentic conversation. 

“Maybe Laurent asked me to marry him, maybe he didn’t,” Katria finally said. “It’s not your business, but rest assured if I do, you’re through.” 

Vivienne did not look surprised at her bluntness—instead, her airy expression just hardened slightly. “Through? I only want what’s best for Thedas,” she said. “Your moves in this Game are clumsy and inarticulate. Fitting for you.” 

She clenched her fist. “That’s where you’re wrong. Just because I play the Game differently from you, doesn’t mean I’m bad at it. You spurn sentiment, and I embrace it. You and your noble friends take contracts out on one another’s _lives_ , but I’m good enough to understand that even you lot are worth more than these petty arguments we have.” 

Vivienne smiled as if she were talking to a child. “Such a passionate defense of your poor strategy.” 

“You handle your confidence well enough,” Katria said, moving her foot so she was standing taller on the steps. “But this time you’ve underestimated me and gone too far.” 

Vivienne flippantly waved her hand in reply. “Oh, I don’t think so. According to the rumors circulating Val Royeaux, you and the newly-instated Commander Cullen have become…close. Rekindled love. Convenient for me, I think.” 

Katria frowned. “If I don’t marry Laurent, it doesn’t mean you’ve won.”

“I always emerge victorious in the end, darling,” she said. 

“We’re nowhere near the end yet.” 

Vivienne turned her head and waved primly to a cluster of well-dressed nobles. “This sentiment will be your downfall,” she remarked, then turned her gaze back to Katria, her eyes sliding down her body as her mouth twisted into a sneer. “You come to play the Game in rags, wearing shit-covered boots, and you wonder why no one takes you seriously.” 

“You probably won't be the last person who underestimates me, and you’re certainly not the first either,” Katria said, then smirked. “That first guy who underestimated me—he learned his lesson quickly.” 

She leaned forward. “Do you know what his name was?” 

Vivienne did not reply, only pursed her lips with a well-worn, icy glare. 

“Corypheus,” Katria answered, then stepped back and tried on her brightest, diplomatic smile. Josephine would want her to wish Vivienne a polite farewell—that’s what nobles did. Beam and with the most poisonous of intentions wish someone good day. Katria was tired of doing that. 

“Fuck you, Vivienne,” she said, then spun on her heel and clopped down the remaining steps to the road. _So barbaric_ , Vivienne would likely think, but Katria did not care. She deserved it for manipulating Katria’s emotions like that. For acting like Cullen was a pawn rather than a person. The Game was only a little more fun to play when she didn’t follow the rules. 

Katria turned back to look at Vivienne once she’d reached the well-manicured, cobbled road—also a no-no—and saw that she was gone, had joined the cluster of nobles near them and disappeared inside the cathedral, probably with a flourish. 

A quick slice of guilt cut across her otherwise satisfied mind. The same old fear she had as Inquisitor—always, did she do the right thing? She supposed she would not have the answer to that question right away, so she took a deep breath and hopped down the last step to the road. 

She heard an even more familiar voice at the other end of the steps near the gates of the cathedral, where two of Cassandra’s guards were stationed.

“Perhaps you misheard me. I am the Commander of the _Inquisition_ , and I _demand_ to be taken to Divine Victoria. This is an emergency, and if you do not let me through to her quarters I will-,”

“Cullen?” 

His neck snapped around so fast it looked like it hurt. “ _Katria_ —Inquisitor,” he blurted out. He paused and looked back at the two guards, glaring at them, before marching over to Katria. He grabbed her arm and led her out of earshot. 

Katria furrowed her brow. “How did you-,” 

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked, inspecting her with a serious look. His hair was wind-swept, and his face tired. He smelled like a horse, though she probably did too. 

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “How did you get here so quickly?” 

He frowned. “I was worried and terrified, Katria. You just left.” 

“I know, but-,” 

“No,” Cullen cut in with a sharp gesture. “It’s _unacceptable_. You can’t go running off whenever you want, alone. You just _can’t_. It’s so irresponsible.” He clenched his fist. “No one had any idea where you were. Do you have a single-,” 

“I-I left a note,” Katria pointed out, trying not to look too sheepish. 

“Left a _note_?” Cullen began angrily. “It said _Val Royeaux_! Which happens to be the largest city in Orlais! Do you know that I thought someone hurt you or kidnapped you and I…” 

She reached out for him. “Cullen-,” 

He groaned and covered half his face with his hand, suddenly deflated. “Maker’s breath, wait,” he said. “ _Wait_. Let me apologize.” 

He sighed. “Kat, I’m sorry. I’m losing my temper with you, and that’s not fair. I trust you. I trust you to be alone and take care of yourself.” 

He swallowed roughly and broke from her gaze. “I—I haven’t slept in…days. This marriage...the thoughts I keep having a-about you and _him_ …It’s made me short-tempered—that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

She _hated_ the look of utter despair on his face, the anguish in his eyes and wrinkled brow. 

“We’re making ourselves miserable, Cullen,” she said softly. 

“No, no. Don’t worry about me,” he insisted. “The way I feel about this—I can get over it. I promise.” 

Katria bit her lip. “Will you ever stop loving me?” 

He lifted his head, mouth open slightly. “What?” he began. “Y-You—you can’t ask me that. We can’t be together. End of discussion.” 

“I love you,” she said, stepping closer to him. “I won’t ever stop.” 

Cullen lifted his hands. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded, staggering backwards. “No—you _can’t_. We decided…” 

She smiled slightly. “Cullen, I’m not marrying Laurent.” 

He stopped, his hands still raised. “W-What?” he stammered. “Are you serious?” 

“This one time?” she said. “Yes.” 

Cullen shook his head. “I don’t understand. I thought you— _why_?” 

“I talked to Cassandra,” Katria explained. “We didn’t find the answer to my problem. A complete one anyway. But I figured out something, and I’m going to make it work.” 

“Something to do to Vivienne?” he asked. “And you’ll reject Laurent?” 

Katria raised her hand to his face, his stubble coarser against her palm because he hadn’t shaved while coming to Val Royeaux. “I won’t marry him.” 

Cullen smiled deliriously for a moment, then he seemed to pause, his happiness wilting, brows drawn together as he grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her hand away. 

“No,” he said. “We can’t—now. Not yet.” 

Her heart sank. “Cullen?” 

“Laurent will be _angry_ when you turn him down,” he said. 

“He won’t,” Katria insisted. “He’s reasonable and kind.”

“Yes, right now,” Cullen replied. “But he’s not perfect, and is a spoiled noble who always gets what he wants. And when he can’t have you, after all this negotiation, he will be furious.” 

She crossed her arms. “Why does that matter?” 

He ran his hand through his hair. “He could threaten you. Say that if you don’t marry him, he’ll hurt the Inquisition, or help Vivienne. Anything to coerce you into doing what he wants." 

“I thought you would be happy I made this decision,” she said. Her voice was reedy; she didn’t intend to sound so hurt. 

Cullen reached out for her, then stopped himself, fists clenched and at his side. “Let me explain,” he begged. “I am happy. Of course I am. You are the love of my life, and I am wanting of _nothing_ except being with you.” His jaw tightened. “But if—if I let myself believe right now that we will be together, if I fill myself with hope and thoughts of our future, and then you go to Laurent and he’s so angry he pledges to destroy the Inquisition or harm you, and he all but forces you to marry him because you’ve been negotiating for months….” 

Katria sighed; Cullen obviously did not have a high opinion of Laurent, which did not surprise her. He had a point, though. Laurent would be completely justified in his anger and might retaliate so enormously she would have no choice but to marry him, alternatives to defeating Vivienne aside. 

“That…might not happen,” she said weakly. 

“But it _could_ ,” Cullen replied. “And if I believed you, and kissed you now, and seriously asked you to marry me like I want, and then you were taken away again?” He shook his head and clumsily swiped at his eye, even though there were no tears there. “I couldn’t…handle that kind of hope being crushed again. To experience what I felt last night another time, when I just convinced myself that I’m capable of moving on…” 

“Cullen, I’m…” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—I shouldn’t have told you before I knew for certain.” 

“No, it’s alright,” he said. “I’m glad— _so_ glad—you’re trying this. But I’m also scared to be too eager about it. There are still scenarios where you could marry him.” 

“I—yes,” Katria admitted. “Annoying of you to mention, but pragmatic.” 

“That is my job,” he pointed out. “Seeing all our strategic possibilities.” 

She shuffled closer to him, fingers reaching out to trace the gold line design in his coat. “It would probably be inappropriate for me to hug you in such a public space,” she murmured. 

“Probably.” 

Katria looked up at him, and his mouth was turned up in his endearing smile, so she wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled her the rest of the way to him, his large hands warm across her back. The fur in his coat tickled her nose. 

Cullen’s chest expanded under his armor before he whispered to her, the words ghosting across the crook of her neck as he nuzzled his head there. 

“I’m so sorry I ever let you go.” 

“I love you, Cullen.” 

He gave a soft groan and squeezed her, lifting her onto her toes. She nestled closer into his coat, fisting the fur between her fingers. 

“I will return to Skyhold as soon as possible and speak to Laurent,” she said. “Do you want to travel with me?” 

Cullen let her fall back flat on her feet so he could look at her. “I will sent some soldiers with you,” he said. “I would be too tempted—alone, traveling with you. If we stopped for a break…” 

“Yes,” she said with a grin. “I suppose that would slow me down.” 

He slowly loosened his tight grip on her. “I will follow after you a few hours later. I need to alert the men I brought along with me that you have been found.” 

She sheepishly fiddled with her hair. “I apologize for running off.” 

Cullen chuckled. “Just…leave a more detailed note next time, alright?” 

Katria nodded. “I will.” She finally separated from him, disappointed that she was no longer enveloped by his scent. “Well, I will depart post-haste. Wish me luck.” 

“Good luck,” he said. “And be safe.” 

Katria squeezed his hand with a nervous smile, then turned towards the crowded road. She only made it a few feet before Cullen called out to her. 

“Kat.” 

She turned, and he was upon her, taking her hand gently in his and placing something in it. “Um, for luck.” 

Katria tried not to cry about the coin resting in her palm. She closed her fingers around it and looked up at him. “You kept it. I was afraid I ruined it for you.” 

“No,” he said. “It only reminds me of you and my family now. It’s always been yours. I was only keeping it safe.” 

Her voice cracked slightly. “Thank you, Cullen.” 

He hesitated, then raised a hand to the side of her face, lifting her head so he could plant a kiss on her other cheek. She squeezed the coin tighter in her palm as his stubble rasped her skin. 

“It’s going to work,” she insisted softly, as he leaned back. “We’ll be together.” 

“I…hope so,” he said, stroking her cheek once with his thumb before lowering his hand. 

Katria dropped his—her—coin into her pocket. “I will see you soon.” 

Cullen waved to her until he disappeared into the crowds of people as she made her way further down the road. She wanted to hate Cullen’s practicality, but he was right about Laurent. He would be angry, and she would have to handle it. She would have to have leverage against him because being in love was not a reason for Laurent to graciously step aside. Not when he thought for so long his wife would be one of the most powerful women in Thedas. 

Katria’s hand was still clenched around the coin as she walked. She would need luck for this to work, and lots of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See look at that, we're transitioning into happiness. Depending on how the conversation with Laurent goes *wiggles eyebrows ominously*


	29. Chapter 29

Katria rode hard back to Skyhold, and upon arriving, relinquished her horse and had plans to immediately head to Laurent’s quarters, propriety be damned. Instead, she was intercepted by a particularly insistent Josephine. 

“Inquisitor,” she said with a smile—always a prelude to her ordering Katria to do something related to politics. 

Katria marched past her through the long grass that still grew in the courtyard, though it was mostly trampled by this time of day. “I can’t talk, Josie. I’m going to turn down Laurent.” 

“You’re—you’re _what_?”

She heard Josie hustling after her, feet padding against the dirt. 

“You said it was my decision,” Katria said. 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Josephine replied, taking one long step to jump in front of her. Katria merely side-stepped around. 

“Inquisitor, you can’t just show up in Laurent’s rooms,” she insisted. 

They had reached the stairs leading up to the Great Hall; Katria rested her foot against the first step, then turned with a sigh. “Why not?” 

“Well…” Josephine tightened her grip on her broad. “Well, for one, you are covered in mud and sweat, and—pardon my candor, but you smell terrible.”

“Of course I smell terrible, I haven’t had time to bathe.” 

Josie gestured up and down Katria’s clothes. “At least rinse-off. You can’t barge into his quarters in this state.”

Katria clenched her fists and took a slow breath. Yes, her Ambassador had a point, but Katria was afraid to tarry—what if she lost her nerve? She was frightened enough because she _knew_ Laurent was going to be angry. She wished Cullen were here. 

“Fine,” she said, relenting. “I will bathe. Maker’s balls…” She marched up the stairs, shoulders hunched. 

Josephine called after her, tone decidedly more pleased. “Thank you, Inquisitor! Wear something nice! And—good luck!” 

Once Katria reached the Great Hall, she felt like she’d been sufficiently mothered. She went to her rooms and drew a bath with the help of her attendants. The clothes she slipped on were one small step above her regular Skyhold ensemble, though she didn’t think wearing something well-fitted would appease Laurent.

She went to the gardens, then to the renovated noble suite above them. Her heart began to tick more nervously. She clenched Cullen’s coin in her fist, praying over and over that this conversation would fall at least a little in her favor. Because she loved Cullen, and seeing the anguish she’d caused him because of this marriage was destroying her. 

The guards near Laurent’s door let her pass—one of the perks of being in charge. She swallowed down the abrupt fear that shot through her, thinking how close she was to having her dreams torn out from under her. 

Katria knocked twice on the door; she heard a noise inside and opened it without waiting. 

“Good afternoon, Duke Ghislain, I really hate to arrive uninvited, but…” 

She looked up and saw Laurent standing in the middle of the room—a well-decorated sitting room, adjacent to his bedroom. There was a small table for guests, covered with a lavish Antivan cloth; a tea set sat upon it, one cup filled and still steaming. 

Laurent looked…frazzled, which perplexed Katria. His fingers twitched, his collar was ruffled, and he stood in a more defensive pose than she expected. 

“I-Inquisitor,” he stammered. Like a good Orlesian, he quickly recovered, face smoothing out, and he smiled politely at her. “How can I help you?” 

Katria narrowed her eyes—the rug underneath the table was wrinkled, one edge flipped back. She slowly made her way inside. “I wanted to discuss the contract?” 

“Ah, yes,” he said, his gaze following her as she got closer to the table. “I was hoping you would—when I heard you were in Val Royeaux, I’ll admit I was concerned.” 

“I apologize for leaving so abruptly,” Katria replied. “There was an emergency that required my immediate attention.” 

“I completely understand,” Laurent assured her. “To be honest, I thought you would take a little longer to come to a decision. I’m so happy to see you.” 

Katria looked at the table—the other teacup was empty, but not clean. The white porcelain was stained red in a half-circle on one side. She furrowed her brow, shooting Laurent a look. 

Katria bent down and picked up the edge of the table cloth.

“ _Ducette_?”

Ducette Maron, daughter of Lord Basil Maron, sat crouched under the table, bundling her skirts around her knees, red-faced and sheepish. Her lipstick had been smeared on the skin around her mouth, and a blotchy flush of red made a damning trail down her pale neck to the first few undone clasps of her bodice. She’d obviously been doing something particularly scandalous. 

“In-Inquisitor!” 

“What are you doing here?” Katria asked incredulously. 

Ducette pushed her disheveled hair behind her ear. “I arrived in Skyhold just before Laurent—um, Duke Ghislain. Lady Josephine has thought of the most _wonderful_ idea to stop the rumors my father is-,” 

“No, no,” she interjected with an exasperated wave. “What are you doing _here_? Under this table?”

Ducette leaned forward and started to crawl out from under it. Katria held the tablecloth up for her and helped her stand. 

“I’m so sorry!” she blurted out. “Inquisitor, please, I never meant—I know Laurent is your fiancée, and I have no intention of-,” 

Katria made a strangled sound. “Oh, um, he’s not-,” She stopped because getting that across wasn’t her primary concern. “Actually, never mind, are you two _sleeping_ together?” 

Katria looked at Laurent, who had his face buried in one hand. He opened his mouth to speak, before Ducette jumped in front of her. 

“Please don’t be angry,” she begged. “Please. I just—it’s not serious. I would never interfere with this—your arrangement. I was only…we’ve been….” Ducette’s eyes welled with tears—Maker’s balls was she dramatic. 

Katria awkwardly patted her arm. “It’s alright, Ducette. Just don’t—there’s no need to do _that_.” 

She primly dabbed her eyes. “I don’t want to be sent back to my father’s estate. _Please_ don’t send me back.” 

“I would never do that,” Katria said. “I offered you a place in the Inquisition, and I intend to keep my promise.” 

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” she replied, lips quivering. “I swear once you two are married I’ll never come anywhere near Laurent again.” 

“Ducette,” Laurent interjected, sounding upset. “That’s not…” He looked over at Katria, then cleared his throat. He obviously had stronger feelings for Ducette than a simple interest in sleeping with her. 

“How long have you two been together?” Katria asked. 

“I don’t believe that’s important,” Laurent said, but Ducette answered anyway. 

She sniffled. “Laurent came south to my father’s estate a few years ago. It was my twentieth birthday.” She smiled slightly. “Instead of asking me to dance, he asked if I wanted to take a walk in the gardens and _talk_. It was wonderful to be acknowledged as a person, not as some doll to parade on the ballroom floor.” 

Laurent bashfully looked away and clasped his hands together behind his back. Katria found Ducette’s admission and Laurent’s behavior touching, but also found it potentially opportune. 

“Why don’t you marry each other?” she asked. 

To her consternation, they both gave short laughs. “I’m a minor noble from south Orlais,” Ducette explained. “I’m far too unimportant to be a good match politically for Laurent, and I’ve sworn to never return to that life, anyway. I like not being considered a noble.” She smiled encouragingly. “Plus, you are betrothed to him now. I’m so happy for you.” 

Katria opened her mouth—too many thoughts and words were jammed in her throat, so she could not speak at all. So much for Laurent and Ducette picking true love over politics. She supposed she was not surprised. They were like Josephine—raised in the noble environment; their opinions on marriage were cultivated their whole lives and would probably never change. 

Ducette continued to speak as if Katria’s marriage to Laurent was set in stone. Katria could see it in Laurent’s face, too, that he expected a yes from her. It was mere logic to them. There was little thought required, only a comparison of their credentials. Katria, the Inquisitor, a noble. Laurent, a Ghislain, the head of the Council of Heralds. A marriage the Maker would love. 

Except Katria did not see the marriage that way. Her emotions were far too wrapped up in this process to make it easy. She thought too much about it. She thought about things that made dread grow like a vine in her gut, squeezing tighter and tighter around her until it physically hurt. 

Cullen would not attend the wedding; he would leave for somewhere far away—urgent Inquisition business. Katria would stand utterly alone in a room full of people, smiling and saying yes to a man she did not love. Laurent would take her to _their_ quarters, and he might be nice about it, and only sleep beside her that first night, but eventually he’d lay her down in _their_ bed and fuck her. And Katria would close her eyes and wish she could make herself smaller and smaller until she didn’t exist anymore. Then the worst—the absolute _worst_ —would come. The news from the healer that she was with child; if Cullen hadn’t already quit because it hurt too much even though he promised to stay, Katria would have to tell him— _I’m pregnant_. Not his child. Not his family. He would congratulate her, and leave, and how was she supposed to live like that?

“I can’t,” Katria said, the words bursting out of her lungs with a sharp breath. “I can’t marry you, Laurent. I…” 

His brow creased. “Excuse me?” 

Oh no. No. It was _not_ supposed to come out like that. With Ducette here. She swallowed hard to steel herself—there was no turning back now. 

She pulled the contract and his mother’s bracelet from her pocket. “Duke Ghislain, I’m deeply sorry, but I won’t be able to follow through with our agreement.” 

Laurent looked down at the items in her hand and cocked his head. His laugh was only a short huff. “Inquisitor, forgive me, but you can’t possibly be serious. We’ve been negotiating for months.” 

“I’m—I am serious.” 

His lips pinched in, eyes now glinting. “You mean to tell me that after all this time, you no longer have any interest in marrying me?” His fist clenched. “Do you have any idea who I am? Who you’re rejecting?” 

“I know,” Katria insisted. “I know it’s not ideal-,” 

“Not ideal?” Laurent began incredulously. “It’s _unacceptable_. This is an embarrassment. I will not allow this to happen.” 

She slid her thumbs across the thick parchment of his contract. “It’s happening right now.” 

Laurent frowned and crossed his arms. “I’m not sure you understand, Inquisitor. I am the head of the Council of Heralds. I decide who rules Orlais, and Orlais is the most powerful country in Thedas.” He threw his hand out. “Your attitude is endearing enough, Inquisitor, but you’re on thin ice in my country.” 

“I-,” Katria shifted on her feet. The air felt hotter, prickling her arms and neck, muscles tensing like she was in battle because she did feel threatened. And unlike Josie, whose response under pressure was to be diplomatic, Katria wanted her daggers in her hands, to disappear and run away. 

Laurent narrowed his eyes and stepped forward. “Pray tell, Inquisitor, what reason you could possibly have to reject such a lucrative arrangement.” 

“It’s a…personal matter,” Katria replied. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” he said with a sneer. 

She slid the contract and his bracelet onto the table, staring down at it, tracing the intricate design of the Antivan cloth under her finger. Did she tell him the truth? Or a lie? Was there any lie that would be sufficient? It’s not like she could tell him their marriage was no longer politically feasible because that would be untrue. 

Laurent reached up and ran his hand through his close-cropped hair. “Is this about some—some _man_? A foolish romantic entanglement you think I would disapprove of?” 

“It’s not foolish,” she said reflexively. 

He unclasped his hands, his slender shoulders rising as he took a long breath. “Inquisitor, I apologize for my tone,” he said. “I am aware of the nature of your relationship with Commander Cullen. I have my own informants and bits of gossip, and your attachment to him is not a problem with me. You may continue to see him as long as you’d like.” He reached out to her. “Has this fixed it? Do we have an understanding now?” 

Katria exhaled, biting hard on her lip because she was talking to someone who didn’t _get it_. Laurent was kind and thoughtful, but he was also raised in an environment where he received absolutely everything he asked for. And when spoiled boys didn’t get what they wanted, they negotiated, covered the problem in bandages—in no way did they envision the world wouldn’t exist the way they wanted. 

“Laurent, I understand how marriages work for most nobles,” she finally said. “You have different values. In bloodlines, the legacy of family, politics. But I view things differently. I want to—avoid those entanglements in my personal life. If I get married or have children, I want it to be….” 

Laurent furrowed his brow. “So you’re ending this negotiation that has lasted for months because you’re in _love_?” 

Katria winced. “I wouldn’t—don’t phrase it like that. Other relationships or no, I don’t feel comfortable tying my life down in this way.” 

He was walking closer to her, one foot in front of the other, like a dancer. Or a fox circling prey. “Like I said, the way you think is quite…unorthodox. You’re basing your decisions about marriage on emotions,” he said. “But emotions change.” 

“Why does that matter?” Katria asked, frowning. 

“You turn down a lucrative offer because of feelings that could easily change,” Laurent remarked. “Feelings that have changed before. You thought you loved Cullen once, but-,” 

“That isn’t any of your business,” Katria snapped, a chill racing through her at his…perfectly valid point. 

“This _is_ business,” Laurent replied. “This marriage is a negotiation, and you have soiled it with you naiveté about love. Your relationship fell apart, and you except it to be different?” 

“I’m not going to listen to this absurd speculation of yours based on petty gossip,” Katria remarked with crossed arms. 

“I’m trying to help you see reason,” Laurent insisted. “Because the consequences of this decision will be severe.” 

Katria felt her throat tighten—all her fears suddenly real and present and her hands were shaking so she tightly squeezed her arms. “There don’t have to be severe consequences.” 

His brow rose. “Is that why you came here? You thought I would just walk away with a polite smile?” 

“No,” she said. “But I hoped we could at least discuss our other options. Just because we don’t have a marriage by alliance does not mean we can’t have any sort of alliance.” 

Laurent shook his head. “You’ve deeply insulted my family.” 

“And I apologize for that,” Katria said, trying to quell the desperate tone her voice wanted to take. 

He sharply gestured with his hand. “That’s not good enough.”

“Laurent,” Katria began softly. 

“Duke Ghislain is my title.”

She clenched her fist. “Duke Ghislain, I’m—I’m very interested in continuing to pursue a political alliance with-,” 

“That’s enough,” Laurent interjected airily. “Nothing you say will make the Ghislain family interested in sponsoring an organization filled with such…flighty individuals.” 

Katria let her arms flop to her side. “So, what are you saying? I marry you or…” 

“I expect you to keep your commitments,” Laurent said. “You’re the _Inquisitor_.” He strode over to the table, taking the contract and holding it in front of her. She remembered when he’d given it to her the first time, so tentative and kind. Kind because he thought he was getting what he wanted. Now he was the spoiled tactician, and he was forcing her hand. 

“Sign the contract, or I will be forced to leave.”

Katria bit her lip. How could this be happening? She had _decided_. She had decided to be brave and it wasn’t working. Her problem was worse than ever. Vivienne protesting her too-lenient reforms, and now Laurent exacting his vengeance because he felt slighted.

This is what happened when she did things for herself. 

Katria’s eyes were watering, and she hated how pathetic it made her feel. She searched Laurent’s hard gaze, wishing she would have thought more about what she was going to say. She should have brought Josephine with her. Not been so eager to burst into his room and declare that she was in love.

She reached out, two fingers and her thumb gripping the paper, to sign her _life_ away. 

A pale hand shot out and abruptly ripped the contract from her grasp; Katria’s neck snapped up in time to see Ducette letting it flutter to the ground, eyes wide. 

“You _can’t_ ,” she said. 

Katria raised her hand to her hair. “Ducette, I…have to.” 

“No, you don’t,” she insisted, then made an exasperated noise and turned to Laurent. “I will not allow you to treat Katria like this.” 

Laurent gave her a skeptical look, then patted her arm with an indulgent smile. “Ducette, darling, this is a business matter. Perhaps you should leave us?” 

Ducette’s mouth was a hard line. “You are treating the Inquisitor like some typical noble, but she’s not. She saved all of Thedas and deserves something for that!” 

“I believe there are more than fifteen statues in Orlais erected in her honor,” Laurent remarked sourly. 

Ducette straightened her shoulders, her small nose tilted a little higher. “You can accept Katria’s rejection with grace and benevolence, or you can be resentful and immature, and I’ll…no longer be seeing you.” 

Laurent recoiled slightly. “What?” 

She lost her nerve for a second before clenching her fist. “I have spent my entire life being controlled by my father, and other nobles who told me how to act with propriety. Katria was the first person who ever took a _chance_ on me and my dreams. I am the happiest I have ever been because of it.” She stepped forward. “You’re going to respect her, and what she wants.” 

Laurent gave an awkward laugh. “Ducette you can’t be serious! We’ve been together for years, and I am merely doing what is best for my family. Stop being absurd.” 

“I’m not being absurd,” Ducette replied. “You give an ultimatum to the Inquisitor, I give an ultimatum to you.” 

“You think that you can force my hand by threatening to withdraw _sex_?” he asked incredulously. 

Katria shifted and looked down—that was certainly not the type of leverage she imagined Varric was talking about when he advised her to approach Laurent, but it seemed like her only option at this point. 

Ducette nodded. “I’m trying, at least.” 

Laurent’s jaw jutted out in a mulish expression. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Fine,” she said with a shrug. “Take that chance. On top of us being over, I know a lot of…things about you. Things that you don’t want others to know.” 

“Oh, so now you’re _blackmailing_ me?” he snapped. 

“I…am,” Ducette replied, clearing her throat. “Laurent, you’re a good, kind man, and you try so hard to live up to your father’s legacy, but you’re… _not_ him.” She stepped forward, gently taking his hands. “This isn’t you. The Laurent I know isn’t ruthless or vindictive. Stop over-compensating because you’re so afraid every noble in Orlais will judge you for this. You’re young, but you’ve done a good job.” Her knuckles whitened as she squeezed him. “I’m so proud of you.”

Laurent’s face softened—he looked younger then, less _Orlesian_ because his face no longer had its characteristic pleasant blankness. He sharply shook his head. 

“You can’t say these things in front of-,” He threw a look over at Katria. 

“I’m just trying to help you understand,” she said. “You can’t do this.” 

Laurent sighed exasperatedly. “What do you want, Ducette? You expect me to give a full alliance to the Inquisition with nothing in return?” 

“No,” she replied. “But don’t make this a threat. Or about your Ghislain ego.” 

Katria lifted her hand slightly. “The Inquisition has a lot more to offer than just my marriageability,” she remarked, though she felt odd speaking as a part of this…lover’s quarrel. 

Laurent stepped back from them both and rested his hand against his forehead. “You’re really asking me to do this, aren’t you?” 

Ducette’s lip curled up in a small smile. “I’m simply asking you not to be angry. To be understanding of how helpful the Inquisition has been to me and the rest of Thedas.”

Laurent’s gaze slid to Katria; gray eyes still hardened slightly. “I’m not asking Vivienne to leave the Ghislain estate. I won’t support her, but I can’t justify taking such extreme measures with no benefits in return. At least for now.” 

“I— _yes_ ,” Katria said, heart clenching. “I like you, Laurent. We can be allies-,” 

He held up his hand. “Let’s take me not punishing you for this mess as a first step.” 

“Sure,” she said, not really concerned for politics at the moment, and more concerned about keeping tears of relief from streaming down her face. 

Laurent bent down to retrieve the contract; he soothed his hand over it, eyes scanning the neatly transcribed words, before he crumpled it in his fist and tossed it back on the table. He looked upset—or at least disbelieving. ‘

“You should leave us, Inquisitor,” he said. “Before I change my mind.” 

Katria stepped back. “Yes, thank you, Duke Ghislain.” She looked over at Ducette, who was smiling eagerly at her with her hands clasped. “Thank you, as well, Ducette,” Katria said. “I owe you.” 

“No, we’re even now.” 

Katria took another step—she wanted to _sprint_ away, but she also wanted to stay. She didn’t like the uncertainty. She didn’t like that this wasn’t a nice, clean end to negotiation where she received the benefits she expected. This ambiguity frightened her; it made the guilt she had intensify because things might not work.

Katria turned before the door. “So…can I keep the daggers you gave me, or…?”

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Oh for Andraste’s _sake_ -,”

She raised her hands in a sheepish gesture before stumbling backwards through the door. It clicked shut in front of her, and Katria lowered her arms. She leaned against the wall, on her shoulder, then her back was completely against it. Her chest felt tight—she couldn’t even decide if she was happy because there was still fear and guilt and confusion swirling through her. 

No matter what, she knew she needed to go speak to Cullen because perhaps he could have hope now. Perhaps both of them could.

=== 

Cullen tried not to dwell on the fact that Katria did not come see him the minute he arrived back in Skyhold. He knew her meeting must have ended—she was either engaged to someone else or free, and he didn’t want to think about it. So he returned his horse to the stables, puttered around the barracks, then returned to his office because he was tired of pretending that everything was okay. 

He forced himself not to crumple inwards from the realization that because she didn’t visit him, her conversation with Laurent probably did not go well. He knew, any minute, Josephine would burst into his office, tittering about the good news: Katria was officially engaged because this stupid noble had strong-armed her into doing something she didn’t want to. 

He hated how right he was to not have hope. He wanted quite desperately to be wrong, but the more he waited, the longer the shadows cast across his desk became, the more he was convinced that Katria was too distraught to face him with the bad news. 

The door opened at dusk. Cullen looked up from his desk and saw Katria in the threshold. She looked lovely, though he tried to avoid thinking about that. He resisted the urge to leap up and run to her, demanding to know what happened. He despised uncertainty. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Katria remarked, still lingering by the door. 

Cullen slowly stood, crossing the room to her. “It’s no problem,” he said. “How did your conversation…that is, if you want to discuss it. I understand if…” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Laurent was angry.” 

Cullen felt like something hit him hard in the chest, knocked the wind out of him so he couldn’t breathe. How could he be so devastated again when he’d tried so hard not to have any hope? Apparently he looked more upset than he let on because Katria stepped forward and put her hands against his breastplate. 

“Hey,” she said softly. “It’s alright.” 

“No, no,” Cullen said. “I know. I understand. You said…yes. To him.” 

Her hands migrated to the fur in his coat. “He was angry, but turns out, I had more leverage with him than I thought.” 

He raised his brow. “You did?” 

“Well, Ducette did,” Katria replied. “You remember her? The girl from the crate?” 

“Vaguely,” he said, swallowing. “So are you saying that…?” 

Her lip curled into a small smile. “I’m not marrying Duke Ghislain.” 

Cullen exhaled sharply through his nose—relief washing so completely over him he felt like he might collapse. “You’re not…” He shook his head. “Katria, is this a risk? Because-,” 

She tightened her grip on him. “It’s always a risk,” she insisted, before her hand moved to his jaw. “But, I-,” She sighed. “Maker’s balls, you’re going to make me be sentimental, aren’t you?”

Katria stepped forward, pressed against him. “Cullen, you’re too serious sometimes. And stubborn. Impatient. Kind of an arse when you don’t get your way-,” 

He smirked. “This is you being sentimental?” 

“Maker, shut up!” she said with a short laugh. Her other arm hooked around his neck. “I love you, and I have sacrificed so much for the Inquisition. My blood and sweat and tears—cumulatively, according to Varric, I have experienced things no human should have to go through in one lifetime. But I do it. Happily. Because I’m making the world a better place for people like you and your family and Bailey.”

“You have done so much,” he said. 

She bowed her head, nestling into the crook of his neck. “The Inquisition can’t have our relationship anymore. It just can’t. Not again. Not ever. Giving you up is not something I’m willing to do. Maybe it’s riskier and scarier, but I am smart and I am the Inquisitor.” 

Cullen rested his hands against her hips. “You are.” 

She drummed her fingers against his armor, leaning back slightly. “So do you…are you…” She bit her lip. “Is this an acceptable decision?” 

He ran his hand along her spine. “Katria, I want you to be sure that this is what you want.” 

“It is,” she said with a nod. “I’m not going to marry Laurent.” 

Cullen stared at her in silence; the realization that this embrace, _them_ , together, was no longer forbidden hit him hard. “I…that’s…” He smiled and rested his forehead against hers. “Maker…” 

“Cullen, what’s wrong?” she asked, brow wrinkled. 

“No, nothing,” he replied hastily; his arms circled her waist. “You have no idea how…how _elated_ I am, but it’s so…” 

“Terrifying,” Katria finished as her thumb scraped his stubble. “I’m scared, too, but it’s not going to stop me. Us.”

“Never,” he said softly. 

She pulled him forward and kissed him; he sighed at the feeling, crushing her against him too tightly like he always did. Her fingers slid back into his hair as her mouth opened to him. Cullen cherished it, desperately, because there was no one else now. Just the two of them, and that’s the way he wanted to keep it. For good, this time. 

Cullen inhaled a serrated breath before speaking again. “You’re not marrying Laurent,” he said, then kissed her twice more for good measure. “You’re _not_.” 

“I’m not marrying him,” she said with a smile. 

“Oh, Maker’s breath…” Cullen tightened his grip and hoisted her up against him, walking them over to his desk. He set her down on it and put his palms flat on the wood on either side of her legs. She brought their lips together, clumsily, hands caging his face. 

He slid one hand along her back and brought her bottom lip between his as she pulled away. “You’re not marrying him,” he murmured. 

She giggled. “Yes. For the third time.” 

Cullen gave an onslaught of kisses to her cheeks, forehead, lips, feather-light and reverent. He raised his hand to her neck, fingers parting the smooth strands of her dark hair. 

“Marry me then,” he said hoarsely. 

She grinned. “You have _got_ to stop asking me that.” 

He met her gaze. “I’m serious.” 

Her mouth formed around words that never reached him. “Really?” she eventually squeaked out. 

He swallowed, heart hammering strongly enough that he was sure Katria could feel it even through his breastplate. “I love you,” he said, and he meant it more strongly than anything he’d said before. “I mean it.” 

“You—are you sure?” she asked. “This isn’t some knee-jerk reaction to the fact that you’re scared I might get caught up in some other political arrangement?” 

“No, of course not,” Cullen replied. He traced her cheekbone with his thumb. “I’ve always loved you, even when we weren’t together, and I will never let you go again. I’m not…saying that marriage is what I need, but I do know given your situation, I’d…maybe…” He rubbed his neck. “Maker’s breath, how do I put this?” 

He shifted and took her hand. “I hate hearing these nobles talk about you like some prize to be had. It’s the same thing that happened to me at the Winter Palace and…” He sighed. 

Katria nodded. “I understand.” 

“I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and that might seem impractical, but the last time I convinced myself to be practical, I…ruined everything,” he said. 

She rested her chin against his breastplate and looked up at him. “I love you, Cullen,” she whispered. “Let me think about it.” 

“Right, right,” he said; a flush was making his way up his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have…or I probably…I can get a ring-,” 

“Cullen,” she said. “Cullen. Don’t worry about it. I love you. I’m in this for as long as you can tolerate me.” 

“Kat,” he said exasperatedly. “It’s—forever. That’s how long I intend to tolerate— _be with_ you.”

Cullen kissed her deeply again because clearly he was making a fool out of himself. He was supposed to keep these elaborate fantasies in his head, but instead they were spilling out, and he was telling her to marry him, and if he kept talking, he’d probably also mention that he would very much like to have her children. He was glad he was not stupid enough to broach that topic. Yet, anyway. 

He was not disappointed by her answer—he knew Katria too well to be upset about her lack of immediate commitment. But he had been the one to leave her, and she needed to know how fully he loved her. How serious he was when he said he’d never leave again. Asking her to marry him did that, and if they spent the rest of their lives together and she never said yes, he wouldn’t care. Though she would probably still keep getting marriage proposals from other people. 

Katria pushed herself off the desk and into his arms. He staggered back when she wrapped her legs around his waist. He led them across the room and fumbled for one of the rungs on his ladder. She dug her fingers into his scalp before she separated from him. 

“You’re far too old to make it up this ladder with me,” she whispered. 

He rested one hand under the curve of her ass. “ _Old?_ I am not old!”

Katria raised an eyebrow, her nose bumping into his. “Oh? Then go for it, Commander.” 

Cullen scrutinized her, then the ladder. He reached his free hand out and grasped the wrung, resting another foot on the lowest one. 

He made a frustrated noise. “Alright, _fine_ ,” he admitted, upon realizing one or both of them would get injured once he inevitably fell backwards in a full set of armor with a tall woman wrapped around him. 

She laughed. “Just put me down.” 

He grinned and instead pressed his mouth to her jaw, drifting down to the juncture of her neck with warm and languid kisses. He trapped her between the ladder and his body, and she clenched her fists into his coat, a soft groan escaping her lips. 

“You want me to put you down?” he breathed, rolling his hips against her. 

She tightened her thighs around him and arched her back. “No—oh no,” she begged. “Please don’t, Cullen.” 

He smiled against her skin, drawing his teeth across her warm flesh before he trailed back up to the exposed column of her throat and her mouth. 

The door across from them opened, followed by the requisite surprised gasp from the intruder. Cullen tore himself from her lips to glare at whoever had entered. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Josie!” he exclaimed, and Katria let out a snort of laughter before covering her mouth. 

Josephine put her hands on her hips, her cheeks tinged pink. “Don’t be upset with me because you don’t lock the doors to your _office_ when you…” She waved her hand. “Canoodle.” 

Katria giggled again, while Cullen huffed. 

“Well, if you go away, I can lock the doors this time,” he said. 

Josephine raised a finger. “You know, if I could just have one minute of the Inquisitor’s-,” 

“Go. _Away_ ,” Cullen ground out.

Katria fondly patted his cheek, then looked at Josephine. “I’ve turned down Laurent and avoided most of his ire,” she said. “I’ll come by your office within the hour.” 

“Tomorrow morning,” Cullen amended. 

Katria was the one who blushed this time, while he waved Josie away. Their Ambassador gave a polite curtsey then took a step back towards the door. She disappeared, the door clicking behind her. 

“Cullen,” Katria muttered, soothing down some of his askew hair. 

“What?” he said innocently. “I don’t care if I was short with her—no more Inquisition business. Not tonight. No more interruptions. We’ve…we’re finally…”

She put her palm against his cheek. “I know,” she said, grinning. “Now put me down, so I can get up this ladder.” She kissed him. “If you think you can follow me.” 

“I think I can manage,” he replied, stepping back and letting her legs fall to the ground. 

Katria spun around and scurried up the ladder. Cullen gripped one of the rungs and looked up to see Katria staring down at him from the top of his loft. 

“You’re not marrying Laurent,” he said, tilting his eyes up to her.

“I’m not,” she replied, lowering herself onto her belly and resting her chin on her hands. “Are we going to keep repeating that or are you going to come show me how glad you are?” 

Cullen lifted himself onto the first rung of the ladder, smiling like a fool. “I’m going to come show you how glad I am.”

=== 

Katria was outside enjoying the decidedly warmer weather that had settled over Skyhold in the ensuing weeks. She stood on the battlements, looking down at the sparring ring, chin nestled in her palms.

Technically, she was doing _more_ than enjoying the balmy weather. She also had a clear view of Cullen, who was training his recruits in the courtyard below her. He was wearing his armor as he paced, giving out orders, demonstrating proper form. Sure, she was drawn to the attractive features of this man in the slowly increasingly sunlight—his golden hair, the profile of his straight nose and square jaw. But, to her, it was infinitely more endearing to see his skill, his ability to _guide_. Cullen was stoic and rigid to the group in his typical professional form, but there was a gentleness in his interactions with individual recruits. He smiled with one side of his mouth, thumped shoulders, nodded encouragingly—he was an excellent teacher, mentor. Probably would be a good father, if he wanted that. Her shoulders rose as she gave a long exhale.

Someone groaned behind her. “Ugh. Did you just _sigh dreamily_?” 

Katria jumped and spun around. She slumped back against the battlements when Dorian crossed his arms, eyes accusing. 

“What?” she said. “I mean, I—I was just breathing.” 

Dorian slipped past her and peered into the courtyard. “Look your handsome Commander out there. So authoritative. Do you find that attractive?” 

Katria stood beside him and huffed. “Knock it off. I was just enjoying the weather.” 

He snorted. “Two weeks since the disaster that was your arranged marriage, and you’re still ogling over your new man like a teenager,” he remarked. 

“I don’t necessarily think he counts as _new_ ,” Katria replied. “And my arranged marriage was not a disaster. Laurent was civil when he left.” 

“Oh, I’m glad the rejection happened,” he assured her. “I get to tease Cullen endlessly now, whereas before his dear Inquisitor was a very sore subject of conversation.”

“Well, I’m so glad you are sharpening your witty repertoire with him,” Katria said. 

Dorian leaned against the battlements. “Josie said proposals for you are still pouring in.” 

She nodded. “It happens. I’m still technically _eligible_.” 

“So when are you going to marry Cullen?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Katria squirmed. “Come on, Dorian, don’t talk to me about that.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Maker forbid we talk about adult things like commitment.” 

“I—it’s not _that_ ,” Katria insisted. “Things have been…fantastic for us, but that doesn’t mean…I don’t…” She looked back down at Cullen; the way he smiled with his hand on his sword made her heart flutter. He bent down to help a recruit to his feet. He took the boy’s sword, showing him how to properly grip it. 

Cullen had not pressured her further about marrying him. He had asked, and the prospect thrilled her, but perhaps was also a little frightening. She did love him, and she was more certain than ever that they had figured things out. Especially now that they were fully together. No prospect of political marriage hung like a specter over them; Cullen could stay in her rooms at night, and kiss her in public, though he rarely did. They could talk about their future like these things would actually happen, and Katria was never happier. She didn’t want their dynamic to change, so perhaps that’s why she had not answered him. 

Katria shifted and let her gaze drift back to Dorian. “Do you think…” She cleared her throat. “Would be it too brash to…marry him now? I mean, it’s only been…” 

Dorian snorted. “That’s what you think marriage is about? You’re involved with Cullen a requisite amount of time, and then you’ll be ready to commit?” He shrugged. “If you love him, always, and you want these nobles off your back, and to start this family you two both talk about, then do it. Simple.” 

She was not sure if it was simple, though Dorian seemed convinced of that. His advice had never technically led her astray before—not that they really discussed serious matters all too often. 

Katria tapped her foot against the stones under her, still watching, finding the frown on Cullen’s face as he gave orders still endearing. She rubbed her palms together before shoving her weight off the battlements. “Excuse me a moment,” she said. 

“Of course, my dear.” 

Katria trotted halfway down the steps beside them so she could see the sparring ring by the tavern more clearly. She hesitated before calling to him. 

“Commander Cullen!” 

He immediately turned in her direction—he clearly knew she’d been watching him. His lip curled up in a faint smile as he took a few steps closer to the base of the stairs. 

“Yes, Inquisitor?” 

She took another step down. “I wanted to say yes.” 

Cullen’s brow wrinkled. “Yes?” he began. “Yes to-,” His face lost some of its color as his jaw seemed to unhinge itself. “ _Oh_. Yes to that? My—the question, from…”

Katria grinned. “Is the offer still open?” 

Cullen’s eyes widened. “Maker, _yes_ ,” he blurted out. “Of course. I’m…” He rubbed his neck, his gaze darting nervously to the recruits because he was probably embarrassed to be blushing. “You’re serious?” 

She clopped down the last few steps, placing both palms on the banister and leaning towards him. She lowered her voice. “I would love to be your wife, Cullen Rutherford.” 

He broke into a wide smile. “That would be…I would like that.” 

Katria tapped her knuckle against his breastplate. “Good,” she said. “Don’t you dare forget to write your sister about this.” 

Cullen nodded. “Absolutely.” 

She scrutinized him. “Have you even told them we’re together?” 

“I am—going to,” he replied. “Right now. Today.” 

Katria gave a short laugh and crossed her arms over her chest. “Ros is literally going to kill you.” 

“Let’s hope not,” Cullen said. 

Katria looked back over at the sparring ring. “I apologize for disturbing you.” 

“I’ve never been more happy to be interrupted, Kat,” he said, grinning.

Cullen hesitated before rounding the steps and wrapping himself around her, pinning her arms at her sides as he kissed her deeply. His mouth swallowed the surprised noise she made, and she quickly responded to him, fingers clenching his coat in her limited range of movement, tasting the sweat on his lips he’d worked up from being in the sparring ring. 

The sound of metal clanging and shields clapping together dramatically decreased. When Katria opened her eyes, she saw most of the recruits staring at them, expressions aghast. Cullen did not like to appear intimate in front of many people, so this was probably the first time they’d seen him shower his Inquisitor with more than a kiss on the hand. 

“Get back to work!” he barked, and to his credit, his order was quickly followed. 

Katria smiled at him as he untangled himself from her. He cleared his throat, blushing up to his ears. “I will, um, see you later, Inquisitor.” 

“I look forward to it, Commander.” 

He gave her a slight nod, and Katria watched him return to his recruits, a smug smile hidden under his stern expression. She jogged back up to the battlements and beamed at Dorian.

“That was sickening,” he said. “So adorable it’s sickening.” 

“It’s not nice to eavesdrop,” Katria replied. 

Dorian smirked. “Well maybe you shouldn’t have such important conversations in the middle of a muddy courtyard.”

“He’d already asked me,” she said. “I just…got the courage to answer.” 

Dorian reached out and put his arm around her. Uncharacteristic for him to be sure. 

“I know,” he whispered. “And you’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this chapter into two because the tone of the next part is a little different from this, so yay for one extra chapter! Thank ya'll so much for your continued support! Hope ya'll liked the happy near-ending :D


	30. Chapter 30

Two months before their wedding, there was unrest in the White Spire that resulted in a series of serious injuries to a group of mages and Templars. The news came swiftly to the Inquisition, as well as news about various protests and actions taken by those like Vivienne who blamed Katria’s leniency for the incident. 

Katria was understandably devastated by the news. She read the report in the War Room, looking calm, but her whitened knuckles told Cullen that she was already letting guilt consume her. 

That was the drawback of all this. He was deliriously happy waking up in the morning beside her, but sometimes he saw regret in Katria’s eyes—maybe not because she had doubts of her feelings for him, but because she had doubts about whether it was right to pick their relationship over the interests of the Inquisition. 

Vivienne was vacated from her position as Court Enchanter, which was a victory for Katria, but she still had noble contacts, and ways of letting her opinion about the reforms remain relevant, especially since she still had a place to live outside of Val Royeaux. 

All these concerns kept Katria up most nights. She did not admit it, but in bed she laid with her back to him, and her breathing was never slow or steady or heavy with sleep.

The whole situation terrified Cullen. He was not equipped to deal with these things—though he didn’t have to thus far. Katria did not confide in him because she would feel bad for that too. 

It was the one kink in their otherwise successful relationship: the guilt Katria let herself feel every time something went wrong. Cullen was inextricably tied to that guilt and the staggering weight she put on her shoulders because she was the Inquisitor. 

For the first time ever that night, Cullen went to bed before Katria. She smiled wearily at him, and kissed his temple, and hours later when he woke up in the dead of night, she was still working at her desk. 

There were two candles lit on either side of her, the light flickering across her drawn features. Her hair fell in a curtain over her face, before she pushed it back behind her ear, probably for the hundredth time. 

Cullen rolled from his back onto his side, pillowing his arm under his head. 

“Hey,” he said, and she looked down her long nose at him. 

“Did I wake you?” she asked. 

“No,” Cullen replied. “But you should get some sleep.” 

Katria sighed and ran her hand across her forehead. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to…” She rubbed her face. “Figure this out.” 

He furrowed his brow. “There’s nothing to figure out,” he said. “These things happen. No transition is going to be perfect.” 

Her hand fell with a _slap_ against the table. “I am responsible for this transition, a-and people’s lives are being threatened because of it.” 

“More lives would be at stake if you hadn’t made the changes you did,” Cullen insisted. 

“We don’t know that,” she muttered. 

He sat up in the bed. “Come here and get some rest.” 

Katria shook her head. “I’ve decided to go to the White Spire.” 

“Now?” Cullen began incredulously. “For Andraste’s sake, if you just took a few hours rest-,” 

“I’m not going to be able to sleep anyway,” she interjected with a dismissive gesture. 

“You should at least try.” 

Katria’s square jaw clenched. “Maker, would you quit pestering me?” 

Cullen frowned and flopped onto his back. “You haven’t had a full night’s sleep since-,” He let out a defeated exhale. “Never mind. Do what you’d like.”

Katria was silent after that. While he stared up at her closed-in ceiling, he heard the shuffling of parchment and the scratch of her quill. She eventually padded across the room. The mattress dipped down as she sat beside him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m feeling…” 

His gaze shifted over to her. “Grumpy?” 

Katria half-heartedly swatted his arm. “You would know all about that.” 

She turned with one knee rested on the bed, and he slid his hand over her leg. “I support your decision to go to the White Spire, but perhaps you should wait until the morning to leave,” Cullen said.

Katria nodded, her fingers dancing over his hand. “True. I need to make some preparations. I bet Dagna has my new dagger enchantments completed.” 

“Do not wake that poor girl up,” Cullen said. 

“Oh, she’s normally awake anyway,” Katria replied with a wave of her hand. She patted his chest. “Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Kat, you should…” He cleared his throat and pushed himself onto his elbow. “You _should_ sleep, but I will…cease my pestering.” 

She ran her hand through his tousled hair. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I appreciate that you’re looking out for me.” 

“Always, Kat,” he said, before lifting his head to gently kiss her. She traced her fingers down his chest while he slid his hand across the small of her back to pull her close. 

“How about you come to bed and don’t sleep?” he suggested, grinning. 

She pressed her mouth against his scar before looking at him. “Tempting offer.” 

“Take me up on it then,” Cullen murmured. He rolled onto his back, pulling her along with his arms on her waist so she was partly sprawled across his chest. 

She kissed his cheek and wiggled off him. “When I get back,” she said. 

“How long are you going to stay?” he asked. 

“As long as it takes,” she replied with a shrug. 

It disappointed Cullen a little to hear that, but he just smiled slightly at her. 

“Just be back in time for that little get-together we’re having on Summerday,” he said, squeezing her hand. 

Katria laughed, and it made his heart flutter to see her face light up. She leaned back towards him. “There is nothing _little_ about the ceremony Josie has forced me to plan.” 

Cullen kissed her. “It would not be much of a wedding without you, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh, I’ll be there,” she assured him. “I’m a little frightened about what our Ambassador would do to me if I didn’t show up.” 

“I’ve never seen Josephine truly angry,” he said. “But that might just do it.”

Katria smiled and put her hands on his face. “You don’t have to worry. I will be there, very happy and smiling and maybe also a little drunk to prepare myself for the noble conversations we’ll have to have.”

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered. 

She scooted back to the edge of the bed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Cullen put his arm behind his head as he watched her stand and then bend over to lace up her boots. He should say something, he knew that. Something about how remarkable she was. How she needed to realize that because of her actions Thedas was a better and safer place for everyone, for the first time in a thousand years. But she needed to know she was also a person and deserved to be treated like one. Deserved to make decisions like one. 

Katria had made her way to the steps when Cullen finally lifted his head. 

“I love you, Kat.”

She stopped and raised her hand to him, her lip lifted in a small smile. She disappeared down the stairs, and Cullen mentally kicked himself because he should have said something more. _I love you_ was helpful, but he needed to broach a larger, more complex topic about the fact that Katria was torturing herself over these things she couldn’t completely control. 

He didn’t want to see regret, or fear, in her eyes anymore. He didn’t want her to work herself to the point of exhaustion every day just because she felt bad that she didn’t marry Laurent and had to compensate for that. But, as usual, he did not have the right words.

===

The White Spire was filled with angry, opinionated people. Some who thought Katria’s too lenient reforms were the cause of the problem, and others who simultaneously thought the Circles were still too strict, and that was to blame. In the ensuing week, Katria convinced herself she could not win. Even Fiona and Barris, who normally got along, were at odds with one another pertaining to how to prevent these problems from happening again. 

Katria felt the stress pulling her apart; she hadn’t slept enough or eaten when she should, and of course she knew that was not advisable. The guilt festered endlessly, and most nights it reduced her to tears because she knew Cullen was being affected by it. She didn’t want him to think she regretted her decision because she didn’t. Not for a second. Her feelings for him were as strong as ever, but she had difficulty beginning a discussion with him about her fears. 

Katria spent two weeks at the White Spire wanting to pull her hair out—eventually, she quelled most of the dissonance, convinced Fiona and Barris to get along, but the peace was tentative at best. A shaky agreement worsened by the uproar in Val Royeaux spearheaded by Vivienne. 

Katria was supposed to spend three weeks outside Skyhold, but her need for home and desire to speak to Cullen became so acute she departed early, hardly stopping, so that she arrived back in the dead of night. Josephine would be elated to see her because there were always at least a million things she wanted to ‘briefly’ go over about the wedding reception. Most times, Katria was so tired of those conversations and intimidated by the massive guest list that she contemplated dragging Cullen to the Chantry and getting married in about ten seconds with one witness. But Katria valued her life and feared what Josie would do to her, so she did not. 

When Katria was not around, Cullen did not sleep in her quarters. He promised he would, but he worked far too much—climbing the ladder in his office and falling into bed was much easier for him. Part of her also thought that he preferred the openness of his room. 

Once she arrived in Skyhold, Katria climbed the battlements and crept into his office—it was empty, so she climbed up his ladder. Cullen was on his back in bed, sound asleep, chest bare in the moonlight pouring in from the hole in his roof. It occurred to Katria that she could rest her chin on her elbows and watch him breathe until sunrise. That would likely not be a productive use of her time, though, so she climbed the rest of the way up, shed the bulky pieces of her armor and slid into the bed. 

Cullen, light sleeper that he was, shifted immediately. He grunted and lifted his head, looking blearily down at the top of her hair. 

“Katria?” 

She curled up to his chest, reaching an arm across his waist and inhaling his familiar scent. “Hi,” she muttered against his skin. 

“You’re—early?” he replied groggily. “You weren’t supposed to…” 

“I missed you,” she said. 

Cullen wrapped his strong arms around her, rolling onto his side to squeeze her tightly. “I missed you, too,” he murmured into her neck. “Very much. How was the White Spire?” 

Katria made a disgusted noise that vibrated through her chest. Cullen chuckled in response, and she shook her head. 

“It’s not funny,” she whined. “ _Everyone_ feels the need to angrily share their opinion with me.” 

“I’m sure you made some progress,” Cullen replied, running his hand up between her shoulder blades. 

“Not as much as I should have,” she said with a sigh. 

He hesitated, then kissed her cheek. “You’re too hard on yourself.” 

“Cullen…” She exhaled and buried herself into his chest. “This has been difficult for me.” 

“I know,” he replied softly. “But I—are you unsure…”

Katria tilted her head back so she could look at him. “I love you, and I am so happy to be with you. That’s the most important thing you need to know.” 

“How else do you feel?” he asked. 

“Guilty,” she admitted. “Really _guilty_.”

Cullen squeezed her. “Oh, Kat. Don’t feel that way.” 

“But…” She sniffled. “But what if it all goes to the Void because I didn’t marry Laurent?” 

“It might have done that even if you _did_ marry him,” Cullen countered. 

“I just…want this to work,” she said. “Because I think it’s right.” 

“It will work,” Cullen insisted. “You can’t continue to push yourself so hard just because you’re scared.” 

She groaned. “I know.”

He slid his hand through her hair, then up to her cheek. He smiled slightly. “You made the right choice,” he said. “You matter, as a person, and you can do this.” 

Katria leaned forward and pecked his cheek. “Thank you. I’m…sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner. I don’t mean to be closed off. You shouldn’t for a single second think that I’m having doubts.” She ran her fingers over the muscles on his chest and raised her brow. “Not with this musculature.” 

Cullen snorted, then rolled so he was on top of her, his elbow rested above her head. “I love you.” 

She scraped her fingers through the ends of his hair. “I love you too,” she said. “I will…try to work less. Or feel less responsible for things I can’t control.” 

“You can always talk to me,” he remarked, bowing his head to kiss her along the neck.

Katria bit her lip. “We’ll…be alright, won’t we?” 

Cullen pushed himself up to look at her. “Of course,” he said. “Of course we will.” 

“I don’t want…” She swallowed roughly. “…for us to fall apart again.” 

“That’s not going to happen,” Cullen assured her as he brushed some hair off her forehead. “Sure, we might get frustrated with one another or fight, but…” He planted a kiss on her mouth. “You’re stuck with me.”

Katria grinned. “I could think of worse situations to be in.” 

He nodded, one hand sliding along her thigh while he nuzzled her neck and made her giggle. “You could be married to some short, scrawny noble.” 

“But instead I’m marrying a strapping, young Templar,” she said as her fingers explored the decidedly firm muscles of his back. “Is it young, though? Or are you just a strapping Templar now?” 

He huffed; the breath from his nose fanned across her face. “My stamina is as excellent as ever, I can assure you.”

“I can’t take your word for that,” she said, arching a brow. “You’ll have to prove it.” 

Cullen settled down between her legs, his chest pressing more fully against her. He rested his forehead on hers. “I can do that,” he said. “But will...you be okay?” 

“Yes,” she said. “Though I’ll be even better once we both have less clothes on.” 

Katria wrapped her arms around his neck as he sealed his mouth over hers. She dug her fingers into his scalp, rolling her hips against him, but he pulled away from her to _talk_ as she made a noise of protest against his lips. 

“I love you very much,” he said. 

“You’ve mentioned that,” she replied. “But I can think of a few more exciting things to do with a half-naked man on top of me than _chat_.” 

"Of course, Inquisitor,” he whispered, returning to his kiss, which she enjoyed equally as much as hearing him say _I love you_. 

Later, when Cullen was falling asleep with his arms around her and his chest pressed against her back, she laced their hands together and kissed a few of his fingers. She thought about falling asleep, but then took a few moments to revel in the fact that she got to lie beside someone she cared so much for, after so many years of feeling alone, thinking of him all the way in South Reach in the fringes of her thoughts. Katria smiled slightly and snuggled back into him. 

At sunrise when Cullen left for his early-morning drills, Katria went to his desk and wrote Vivienne a thank-you note for bringing Cullen back into her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a wonky few days and endings are difficult, whew! But in this chapter I wanted to address the possibility of lingering issues that could be overcome (without adding like another 50,000 words, which I would probably be prone to do.) Little epilogue next featuring some Rutherford-letters, and I wanted to add some fluffy bits to ensure the angst from other chapters has been adequately overcome. :D


	31. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, first and most importantly, thank you to absolutely everyone who has stuck with me through this story. Every comment and kudo has meant so much to me, and I am truly grateful for your support. So thank ya’ll and I hope you’ve enjoyed! 
> 
> This is a fairly brief epilogue with an extra dash of super-baby-fluff at the end just because you all totally deserve it, and how the heck does one even end stories because shouldn’t they just go on forever? :p

_Mia,_

_I am happy to hear you are all in good health._

_Trust me when I say that Bailey talks as much about Thomas as he talks about her, so I can commiserate with you. Perhaps their infatuation will peter out with time, though if he accompanies you on your visit to Skyhold over Summerday that likely won’t be the case._

_Speaking of your visit, I am looking forward to meeting Bran’s new romantic interest that he mentioned in his last letter. If they even last until the end of the season. And yes, you can tell him I said that._

_I am writing because I have some…news. Good news. Or I think it’s good. Great, actually. It’s really great. Tell Ros not to…freak out, but I—Katria and I are together. Romantically. That’s all I’m going to say, no matter how much your brother and sister pry, so tell them not to bother because I will not be indulging them in any details._

_Cullen_

_PS: Alright. We’re getting married. To each other. Katria and I. The ceremony is on Summerday, so you all will be there, and I am glad for that._

===

_Dear Cullen,_

_Please send my sincerest apologies to Katria because I am going to kill you. First because you didn’t tell me you were getting married, and second because my eardrums are ready to burst. Rosalie has been wailing about your engagement to anyone who will listen—she’s elated, like I am, but much, much louder about it. _

_When we left Skyhold a few months ago, Katria was betrothed to another man, and you insisted you were uninterested in her. Now, the first time you mention the Inquisitor in your letters again, it’s to inform us you are marrying her. _

_I am very, very happy for you. The children are, too. They have had many discussions about how they will refer to Katria. Aunt Inky? Kat? Aunt Kat? They are very excited about welcoming her to the family. I am, as well, though I do not brag about it quite like the others do._

_Obviously, we all will be making the journey to Skyhold for the wedding. I was worried, you know, when you rejoined the Inquisition; you were jumping into a complex situation, and I had concerns. I’m glad you two ended up together because I can see that she makes you happy._

_Enjoy your happiness while you can because I’m still going to kill you._

_Love,_

_Mia_

=== 

Katria awoke face down in her pillow and immediately wished she hadn’t. Most times, the way she woke up was piecemeal—she’d open her eyes, then close them against the dim light falling through the balcony doors, no thoughts in her mind, just becoming aware of everything around her and curling up closer to Cullen’s warmth. 

Today the minute she gained any sort of consciousness, she dreaded it. She had news to break to Cullen. Good news, but also in some degree distressing news because she was still grappling with it. 

Yesterday morning, Katria was training with Bailey in the courtyard near the armory. She was normally a very attentive teacher, but had woken up at sunrise feeling miserable. She was more tired than usual, her stomach was churning, and about an hour later while watching Bailey practice her parries she’d spun around and wretched into the bushes.

Bailey was frantic, of course—convinced Katria had been poisoned or was deathly ill. Katria insisted she was fine, repeatedly, until the girl’s pestering became so maddening she agreed to go to a healer to get something for her nausea. 

That healer did more than give her some tea. She asked questions. Probed. How long had Katria felt nauseous? How much sleep was she getting? When was her last monthly? And Katria knew, in the back of her mind exactly what the issue was. Except it wasn’t an issue, it was good. She was with child, which is exactly what she and Cullen had said that they wanted. 

Bailey was ecstatic, and Katria had to practically pin her down to get her to swear she would not tell anyone about the news. Cullen needed to hear first, except that for the rest of the day Katria avoided him. Mostly because she herself was still trying to cope with the fact that she was pregnant. With a child. Which was fine. Except it was also terrifying. So she kept herself very, very busy throughout the day, then went to sleep. Cullen was late that night, so he only slid into bed beside her and didn’t disturb her. 

Now it was morning, and she had to tell him. He was not in the bed with her, though. She’d slept late and could hear Cullen humming in the set of chairs across from the bed, like he did when he was reading reports and thought no one was nearby.

Katria gripped her pillow and exhaled sharply. Cullen’s chair creaked; he must have heard her tossing and turning. The bed dipped down as he wrapped his arms around her. 

“Good morning,” he murmured. 

“Hi,” she said, shivering as his lips pressed a line down her neck. “Why are you back in bed?” 

Cullen tightened his grip around her. “You were sleeping pretty heavily,” he replied. “I wanted to come see you. Are you aware that we have been married for ten months today?” 

Katria laid her hand over his. “Is Josie throwing a party for us?” 

“Oh, I hope not,” he muttered, brow furrowed. 

She turned over and looked up at him. Her hand slid down his cheek, his stubble pricking her skin. “I don’t think there is a party. We will have to find some other way to celebrate.” 

Katria pulled him down in a kiss—a warm, distracting one that made him hum in satisfaction as he rolled on top of her and ran his hand through her hair. She nibbled on his lower lip, drawing a groan from him as she hooked a leg around his hips. 

Katria knew that she was purposely avoiding telling him the news, but she figured sex would be a distraction he could not get too angry at. 

Cullen pulled away from her, pressing his mouth to the edge of her lip. 

“We can’t,” he breathed, while he rutted once against her. 

“What—why?” she asked, trying to pull them back together with her hands clenched in his tunic. 

Cullen lifted his torso up higher, palms against the sheets. His mouth was a pursed, disappointed line. 

“Bailey,” he began, and Katria sighed. “She would not shut _up_ about Thomas, so I ate your sweet roll and made her go get you another one.” 

Her jaw dropped. “You ate my sweet roll?” 

“She wouldn’t stop _talking_ ,” Cullen said exasperatedly. “I just wanted her to go away so I could have some peace and quiet. You usually wake up early enough to distract her!”

“She’s a thirteen year old girl, of course she won’t shut up,” Katria replied. “I can’t believe I have a husband who would eat my breakfast.”

He fell back down onto his elbows, kissing her hard on the mouth. “Forgive me,” he said. “I will make it up to you…” He huffed. “As soon as Bailey comes back and then leaves.” 

Katria ran her fingers down his chest and applied pressure with her palms. “That probably won’t happen for a while. Move along, sweet-roll stealer.” 

Cullen climbed out of the bed; Katria followed him and wrapped her robe around her. She sat down in the chair across from him, arms folded over her stomach as she bowed her head. 

How in the Void did conversations like this work? Did she just blurt out: _I’m pregnant!_ Or was there some sort of segue she should use? He would be happy, wouldn’t he? Or maybe scared and surprised like she was? 

“Kat?” 

Her neck snapped up, and she met his perplexed gaze. “Huh?” 

“Do you want tea?” he asked, clearly repeating himself. 

Katria nodded, sinking further into her chair. She had to tell him. Bailey was about to burst from not sharing the news. Cullen put the requisite amount of sugar into her tea and slid her the cup. She only stared at it, watching the steam rise up towards the ceiling. 

“I need to talk to you,” she said. 

Cullen put down the report in his hand. “Yes?” 

Katria shifted, folding her fingers over her stomach. “It’s—um, good. Or…” 

His brow wrinkled and he leaned forward. “Is something wrong?” 

“No, no,” she insisted hastily. “Nothing is wrong.” 

The door at the bottom of the stairs flew open and crashed into the wall. Katria, though she felt guilty about it, slumped back into her chair in relief. Listening to Bailey prattle on about her adolescent crush would give her time to gather her thoughts. 

“Katria!” Bailey sang, as she jogged up the stairs. 

“Good morning,” Katria said, craning her neck around to watch her shuffle forward, a plate in each hand. 

“I brought you a sweet roll,” she announced, stopping on a dime in front of the table.

Katria smiled slightly. “Thank you.” 

“One for you,” Bailey said, placing the plate in front of her with a flourish. She dropped another one beside it. “And one for the baby!” 

Katria made a strangled noise that was muted by the loud _clink_ of Cullen’s cup against the table. 

“Baby?” he blurted out. “Whose—what? _Baby_?”

Bailey gasped, then clapped her hands over her mouth. She moved them long enough to hiss at Katria. 

“You didn’t _tell him_?”

“I was about to!” Katria exclaimed. 

Cullen was still confused, face a shade paler. He blinked. “I don’t—a baby? As in you’re with—your child…” 

“Our child, technically,” Katria replied softly. “You did help a little.” 

“Gross,” Bailey muttered, face screwed up in a look of disgust. 

Katria threw her a glare that said _go away_ in many forms, and the girl stuck out her tongue and then stepped back. 

“Congratulations, Cullen!” she said, as she skipped down the stairs. 

Katria turned her attention to him—his elbows were on his knees, hands supporting his chin and covering his mouth. He inhaled sharply. 

“So you’re…?” 

“The healer informed me yesterday,” Katria said. “I’m pregnant.” 

“You’re pregnant,” Cullen repeated, because he often had to remind himself of the good things that happened to him. He lowered his hands. “I can’t—how are you? I mean, how do you feel? About this?” 

“Oh,” she said, brow rising slightly, but happy deep in her chest because he’d asked her that before reacting the way he might want to. “I’m…” She stopped and gave an awkward laugh. “I don’t know. I’m very happy, I think, but also nervous, and a little…weirded out because there’s a person inside me now.” She wrung her fingers together, heart suddenly hammering in her rib cage. “Are you—is this good news?” 

Cullen broke into a smile, so wide his eyes crinkled at the edges and his cheeks probably hurt. He shook his head. “It’s the best news,” he said. “I—come here.” 

She shifted in her chair to move to him, but he was already up, around the table, knocking against it and making the tea set chatter. He knelt down in front of her and wrapped her in his arms. His breath tickled her neck in short blasts; Katria could feel his pulse thrumming as her hand moved to his hair. 

“I’m…” Cullen trailed off and cleared his throat, squeezing her tighter. “I’m so happy. You—I…” He leaned away; his hands circled from her back to the curve of her waist, thumbs pressing gently into the edges of her stomach. “Maker’s breath, I don’t know what to _say_.”

Cullen pulled her closer to the edge of her chair to kiss her. His mouth was warm, and a sense of relief struck her at his touch. The tightness in her face slipped away; she suddenly felt lighter, _giddy_ , the ball of anxiety she’d made over telling him unraveled because things were not just fine, they were fantastic. 

He showed her how glad he was about her news with the slide of his tongue past hers, the way his fingers scrabbled against her shirt to pull her down onto the floor with him so she was straddling his lap. She, in turn, told him the same with each second of their deepening kiss. She was smiling too much against his lips, she knew that it was disrupting them, but that didn’t matter. 

Katria thought that when Cullen pulled away he would say something, but instead his mouth grazed her jaw, then slowly traced a warm path down her throat. She bit her lip, and her breath left her nose in a shaky exhale. Her fingers clenched into his tunic to bring them closer together. 

When his hand drifted up to cup her breast through her shirt, she giggled. 

“Are you planning on putting _another_ child inside me?”

He smiled against her skin. “I’m not sure it works like that.”

Cullen had reached the edge of her collarbone; he nipped at the protruding point near the hollow of her throat before his nose brushed the silver chain around her neck. 

“Sorry,” she said, moving to bring it over her head and out of the way. 

He stopped her, hooking his finger around the necklace and drawing it out from under her tunic. The coin fell heavy between her clothed breasts. His hand descended further to hold it in his palm. 

“I’m glad I returned this to you,” he said. 

“As am I,” Katria replied. “I’ve been very lucky since then.” She paused and gently ran her finger across the raised design. “Maybe we should give this to the baby.” 

Cullen let the coin drop against her shirt. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hiked her closer. “No,” he said, chin lifted to meet her gaze. They were so close the tip of his nose brushed hers. “Our child has you as a mother—no one can get luckier than that.” 

Tears sprung from the corners of her eyes after he spoke—hormones from the pregnancy, _clearly_. She cupped his face in her hands. 

“Have you been saving that one, you prick?”

“Prick?” he said, laughing.

“Yes!” Katria wiped her eyes. “Making your pregnant wife cry…” 

“I was only trying to be nice,” Cullen replied. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

She sniffled. “It’s not nice,” she began. “ _Nice_ is telling me you think I’m pretty, not that I’ll be the greatest mother of all time.” 

“Both of those statements are true,” Cullen said, linking his arms together behind her. “So forgive me if I don’t understand.”

She lightly pushed his shoulder. “You’re on thin ice, my strapping Templar. You stole my breakfast and made me cry. I hope we last the year.” 

“I think we’ll manage,” he replied with a grin. His hands untangled themselves from her shirt and framed her face. “Kat, I am so ridiculously happy. Truly.” 

“Me too,” she said, forehead pressing against his. “I mean, my breasts and my feet hurt, I’m tired constantly, I vomit sometimes, but otherwise I’m very happy.”

“That sounds…” Cullen cleared his throat. “…well.”

She nodded. “Fair warning, the next time you eat one of my sweet rolls while I’m pregnant, I’ll rip your throat out.” 

His brow rose. “Duly noted.” 

Katria raked a hand through his hair. “I love you and all that too.” She draped her arms over his neck and nestled into his shoulder. A sigh of relief left her lungs, though she knew she should not have been worried. 

Cullen pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I love you, too.” 

Katria sat with him for a while in contended silence, waiting for the rush of people that would no doubt be storming up the stairs now that Bailey had probably told anyone who would listen that there was a ‘mini-Inquisitor’ on the way. Cullen liked his privacy, and so did she, but it would be a happy thing to celebrate this news with the rest of her very-odd family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much fluff, I know. Hope ya'll enjoyed!
> 
> Next steps for me, if ya'll are interested: I am planning on adding a final chapter to my other long-fic that explores babies and more complex feelings about having babies with these two dorks, because for whatever reason I’ve thought of eight million ways that news would be shared or discussed. 
> 
> Then, raise your hand if you’re gosh-darn tired of Katria! (Auditorium of raised appendages). I’ve got another story rattling around. Companion AU, rivalmance (sort of, I don’t like that word). Grumpier, sex-ier. I wish I could explain why I write so many stories featuring two characters interacting in different ways, but I can't. Le sigh. 
> 
> Ya’ll are amazing. Someone stop me. :p


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